Two more years went by.  Virginia was almost a confirmed invalid—­she could only get out in fine summer weather—­then her spirits rallied, and she was something of her old self again.  Philip often spent his evenings away from home now; it become a habit; he did not suspect that Virginia suffered from his absence, but thought that it was really her wish, dear, unselfish soul that she was, that he should go out and be amused.  And she, fearful of making him fancy that he felt a chain where none existed, was careful never to show him by word or look that she suffered from his absence.  She tormented herself with the thought that he might meet any day with a young and beautiful woman who would inspire again in his breast the feeling that he had once known for her.  And she remembered that she was free, even if he forgot it.  Poor soul! she recognised bitterly enough now, that the only safety for a woman is in that bond which a man may so lightly affect to set at naught:  in a contract like hers and Philip’s, the man has all to gain, the woman all to lose.

It was growing dusk one November afternoon, when the door of Virginia’s drawing-room was thrown open, and Lord Harford announced.  A slight blush suffused her cheek as she rose to receive him, and she appeared slightly embarrassed.  Virginia was still beautiful, though no longer very young; she had an extremely fragile and delicate appearance, which is attractive to some men, notably to those who, like Lord Harford, are big, strong and robust.

“You are not angry with me for coming, are you?” he asks almost diffidently, as soon as the door has closed on the servant.

“No,” she answers gently.  Times are changed with her since the last occasion in which she and he stood face to face in this very room.  Then she was angry, but then she was in the full flush of health and beauty, and he was her would-be lover.  There had been nothing to wound or humiliate her in his love-making; he had come loyally to offer her his hand and all that belonged to him, which of wealth and honor was no mean portion.  But she had been deeply stung by a man daring to remember that she was free, and there was only one husband and lover in the world for her.  Now that, as it seemed to her, beauty and love were so far removed from her, it was almost a pleasure to remember that she had been beloved.

“I have passed your door a hundred times,” he says, “and never been able to summon up courage enough to ask for you.”

“But to-day you were braver,” she utters, looking at him with something of the old smile and manner.

“I thought perhaps you had a good many dull hours now Vansittart is so much away.”

“How do you know that he is much away?” asks Virginia, feeling vaguely hurt at his words and tone.

“Because I so often meet him out.”

“Where do you meet him?”

“Oh, at different places.  Chiefly at Mrs. Devereux’s.”