“Adieu, my last love,

“Sidney Trefusis.”

“Well?” cried Mrs. Trefusis, observing through her tears that her mother had read the letter and was contemplating it in a daze.

“Well, certainly!” said Mrs. Jansenius, with emphasis.  “Do you think he is quite sane, Henrietta?  Or have you been plaguing him for too much attention?  Men are not willing to give up their whole existence to their wives, even during the honeymoon.”

“He pretended that he was never happy out of my presence,” sobbed Henrietta.  “There never was anything so cruel.  I often wanted to be by myself for a change, but I was afraid to hurt his feelings by saying so.  And now he has no feelings.  But he must come back to me.  Mustn’t he, mamma?”

“He ought to.  I suppose he has not gone away with anyone?”

Henrietta sprang up, her cheeks vivid scarlet.  “If I thought that I would pursue him to the end of the earth, and murder her.  But no; he is not like anybody else.  He hates me!  Everybody hates me!  You don’t care whether I am deserted or not, nor papa, nor anyone in this house.”

Mrs. Jansenius, still indifferent to her daughter’s agitation, considered a moment, and then said placidly: 

“You can do nothing until we hear from the solicitor.  In the meantime you may stay with us, if you wish.  I did not expect a visit from you so soon; but your room has not been used since you went away.”

Mrs. Trefusis ceased crying, chilled by this first intimation that her father’s house was no longer her home.  A more real sense of desolation came upon her.  Under its cold influence she began to collect herself, and to feel her pride rising like a barrier between her and her mother.

“I won’t stay long,” she said.  “If his solicitor will not tell me where he is, I will hunt through England for him.  I am sorry to trouble you.”

“Oh, you will be no greater trouble than you have always been,” said Mrs. Jansenius calmly, not displeased to see that her daughter had taken the hint.  “You had better go and wash your face.  People may call, and I presume you don’t wish to receive them in that plight.  If you meet Arthur on the stairs, please tell him he may come in.”

Henrietta screwed her lips into a curious pout and withdrew.  Arthur then came in and stood at the window in sullen silence, brooding over his recent expulsion.  Suddenly he exclaimed:  “Here’s papa, and it’s not five o’clock yet!” whereupon his mother sent him away again.

Mr. Jansenius was a man of imposing presence, not yet in his fiftieth year, but not far from it.  He moved with dignity, bearing himself as if the contents of his massive brow were precious.  His handsome aquiline nose and keen dark eyes proclaimed his Jewish origin, of which he was ashamed.  Those who did not know this naturally believed that he was proud of it, and were at a loss to account for his permitting his children to be educated as Christians.  Well