“In the second place, I respect my husband too highly—”
“Too highly to win him back to you, though not too highly to come to me with a story of the wrongs he has done to you? Oh, go away now; you do n't deserve your toy.”
Mrs. Lewis did not respond to the laughter of the actress. She remained standing in the centre of the room with her head down. Fresh tears were welling up to her eyes.
“I have given you my advice—and it is the advice of one who knows a good deal of men and their manners,” resumed Mrs. Abington. “If you cannot see your way to follow it there is nothing more to be said.”
“I may be foolish; but I cannot bring myself to go alone with any man to the Gardens,” said her visitor in a low tone.
“Then good-bye to you!” cried the actress, with a wave of her hand.
The little lady went slowly to the door; when there she cast an appealing glance at Mrs. Abington; but the latter had picked up her copy of the new comedy, and was apparently studying the contents. With a sigh Mrs. Lewis opened the door and went out.
“Foolish child! She will have to buy her experience of men, as her sisters buy theirs,” cried Mrs. Abington, throwing away the book.
She rose from her seat and yawned, stretching out her arms. As she recovered herself, her eyes rested on a charcoal sketch of herself in the character Sir Harry Wildair, in “The Constant Couple,” done by Sir Joshua Reynolds' pupil, Northcote. She gave a little start, then ran to the door, and called out to Mrs. Lewis, who had not had time to get to the foot of the stairs.
“Come back for one moment, madam,” cried Mrs. Abington over the banisters, and when Mrs. Lewis returned, she said: “I called you back to tell you to be ready dressed for the Gardens on Monday night. I will accompany you thither in my coach.”