"Indeed!—Well it is like him.—But to me he always avowed it his intention to stay till the present month."
It struck me like a blow, this proof of premeditated transgression and systematic disregard of truth.
"It is only of a piece with the rest of his conduct," observed Mr. Hargrave, thoughtfully regarding me, and reading, I suppose, my feelings in my face.
"Then he is really coming next week?" said I, after a pause.
"You may rely upon it—if the assurance can give you any pleasure.—And is it possible, Mrs. Huntingdon, that you can rejoice at his return?" he exclaimed, attentively perusing my features again.
"Of course, Mr. Hargrave; is he not my husband?"
"Oh, Huntingdon, you know not what you slight!" he passionately murmured.
I took up my baby and, wishing him good morn-
