her sister's husband, that perhaps there was some little excuse for
the young man's impression that Bella Chetwynd would be vastly better
off under his protection than amid her present surroundings.
"The man was a brute," Miss Blackall declared.
Poor John Chetwynd! Not only was he far removed from being a brute,
but he was also miles above the man whom Saidie delighted to honour,
and whose addresses and attentions she thrust upon Bella at every
turn.
At first, to do her justice, the young wife shrank back dismayed.
Beyond his handsome face, Howard Astley had but little to recommend
him, and after listening to his commonplaces and enduring the fulsome
compliments it pleased him to pay, she would hurry home with tingling
pulses and a shamed heart to Jack--Jack, who had once been all the
world to her.
Once! Oh, and such a little time ago! After all, how little she had
to complain of in the man who had made her his wife!
He was "uninteresting," wrapped up in his profession, "dull." That
was all, but it meant a very great deal to Bella. It meant
everything; and the sluggish conscience which just at first had a
word or two to say in his defence, gradually went to sleep again and
troubled its owner no longer.
Why should she not enjoy herself as other women of her age did?
Why, indeed? She did not intend to do anything that was really wrong,
or even unbecoming in her position as Jack's wife; but still she was
resolved on extracting the utmost amount of amusement possible out of
life, and thus with slow, subtle drifting and unconscious eyes--eyes
that would not see their peril--she reached the point where
temptation steps in.
It was his wealth that dazzled her.
She did so long to be rich. John was apt to be mean about trifles,
but this man--the man she allowed to make love to her--was a very
prodigal in his liberality. He spent money like water. He rarely came
empty-handed. Probably he knew the manner of woman he had to deal
with, and Bella hid the trinkets away with a guilty blush; they were
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