“I shall expect to hear from you very soon. If you desert me, Nelly, there is no such thing as friendship in the world. I want particularly to know what Ned did—as far as you know—when he heard the news. Is papa very angry? And, above all, could you find out how Mrs. Douglas is? I thought that Sholto would be uneasy and remorseful about her; but he does not really care half so much as I do. How selfish I have been! I used to flatter myself that I was thoughtful for others because I made a habit—a detestably self-conscious habit—of being considerate in trifles. And in the end, after being so vain-gloriously attentive to the momentary comfort of all connected with me, I utterly forgot them and thought only of myself when their whole happiness was concerned. I never knew how high I stood in my own estimation until I found how far the discovery of my folly and selfishness made me fall. Tell me everything”. I cannot write any more now. My eyes are smarting: I feel as if I had been writing for a whole month instead of two days. Good-bye for three weeks. “MARIAN.” “P.S. I have just learnt from a very severe criticism in one of the papers that Mdlle. Lalage Virtue has failed here completely. I fear from the wording that her unfortunate habit was apparent to the audience.” CHAPTER XIX On a cold afternoon in January, Sholto Douglas entered a hold in New York, and ascended to a room on the first floor. Marian was sitting there, thinking, with a letter in her lap, She only looked up for a moment when he entered; and he plucked off his sealskin gloves and threw aside his overcoat in silence. “It is an infernal day,” he said presently. Marian sighed, and roused herself. “The rooms look cheerless in winter without the open fireplaces we are accustomed to in England.” “Damn the rooms!” he muttered. Marian took up her letter again. “Do you know that he has filed a petition for divorce?” he said, aggressively. “Yes.” “You might have mentioned it to me. Probably you have known it for days past.” “Yes. I thought it was a matter of course.” “Or rather you did not think at nil. I suppose you would have left me in ignorance forever, if I had not heard from London myself.” “Is it of importance, then?” “Certainly it is—of vital importance.” “Have you any other news? From whom have you heard?” “I have received some private letters.” “Oh! I beg your pardon.” Five minutes passed in silence. He looked out of the window, frowning. She sat as before. “How much longer do you intend to stay in this place?” he said, turning upon her suddenly. “In New York?” “This is New York, I believe.” “I think we may as well stay here as anywhere else.” “Indeed! On what grounds have you arrived at that cheering conclusion?” Marian shrugged her shoulders. “I dont know,” she said. “Nor do I. You do not seem happy here. At least, if you are, you fail to communicate your state of mind to those about you.” “So it seems.” “What does that mean?”