“Once or twice after that,” continued Lady Pelham, “I noticed a strange man following me; he was not a gentleman; of that I was quite sure, neither did he appear to be paying any attention to me, yet I had a sure and instinctive idea that he was watching me.
“Once I had gone to walk in Kensington Gardens, a favorite resort of mine, and there, quite accidentally, I met the Duke of Launceston; he walked with me for perhaps five minutes; then bade me adieu. As soon as he left me I saw the strange man looking earnestly at us both. Another day, by the purest chance, I had gone into the park, and there the Duke of Launceston met me again. I did not exchange twelve words with him, but as he went away I saw the ill-omened face of the man whom I felt sure watched me. I said to my husband one morning:
“‘Alfred, whenever I go out I see a strange man, who appears to follow me and watch me; the next time he does it I shall call a policeman and give him in charge.’
“My husband laughed aloud.
“‘What nonsense, Juliet,’ he said, sharply. ‘Remember, you are not in Spain now; this is the land of common sense, not romance. Do not make yourself ridiculous, I beg.’
“It was the first time he had spoken sharply to me, and my eyes filled with tears. The only change was that the man I had noticed vanished, but another appeared in his place.
“Sir Alfred came to me a few days afterward, and said we were to go to the Court as soon as I was ready. The intelligence was very pleasant to me. I was still deeply and devotedly in love with my husband, and thought that at the Court I should have him all to myself. Another thing was that I fancied people looked coldly upon me. I said to myself that it must be a fancy, for what had I done to deserve it? One morning I met Lady Carlsham, who had always been very kind to me; she turned aside as though she had not seen me. Another friend of mine, Lady Mellott, gave a large ball and did not invite me. I saw Mrs. Stenhouse, one of the queens of London society, who had always appeared to like me. She looked me in the face and gave me what gentlemen call, ‘the cut direct.’
“There seemed to me no reason for such conduct, except the caprice of fine ladies, and I was not sorry to think that at the Court no annoyance of the kind could happen, and that I should have my husband all to myself. I pass over my delight at the beauty and magnificence of the Court; the first three or four days spent there were one dream of delight. Then visitors came, gentlemen from London—among them the Duke of Launceston.
“How I hate the name!” she cried, passionately; “the name that has been so pitilessly, so cruelly, linked with mine. He came, and the tragedy of my life began.
“No child at its mother’s knee was more innocent than I. The duke was my guest, and I did my best to entertain him. If he asked me to sing, I sang; if he expressed a wish to see my flowers, I walked with him to the grounds. I played chess with him; I tried to learn billiards from him, and I appeal to every good and true wife who loves her husband if there was anything wrong in that? Once, when I was walking with the duke down the high road that led past the woods to Turville, I saw from between the trees the face of the man who had watched me in London. I knew his name afterward—Johnson. I cried aloud in surprise, and he vanished. The duke, in his matter-of-fact way, asked me what was wrong. Feeling ashamed to tell him, I answered evasively. Would to Heaven I had told him. Much of pain and wrong might have been saved me.