"Constance—or, rather, Mrs. She smiled mechanically at the audience, holding her violin limply, feeling the hot lights on her made-up face. ‘Do you think I could endure to hear you prattling your abominable French in my ear day by day? Enough to drive me straight into my grave. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. "If you've done wrong, confess it, and I'll forgive you!" "I don't deserve to be forgiven!" returned Jack, bursting into tears; "for I'm afraid I've done very wrong. She was to see Capes to-morrow, but now, in this state of misery she had achieved, she felt assured he would turn his back upon her, take no notice of her at all. She went to a dramatic agent, and he turned out to be the one who had heard me sing in Paris. Retreating as quickly as he could, Jack opened the first door he came to, entered a room, and searching in the dark for some place of concealment, fortunately discovered a skreen, behind which he crept.
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