When Henry perused this letter, he would immediately have gone in search of his father, in order to induce him to return home; but Mrs. Lawson was at his side, and succeeded in persuading him to allow his father to act as he pleased, and remain away as long as he wished.

* * * * *

Ten years rolled over our world, sinking millions beneath the black waves of adverse fortune and fate, and raising the small number who, of the innumerable aspirants for earthly good, usually succeed.  Henry Lawson was one of those whom time had lowered in fortune.  His business speculations had, for a lengthened period, been rather unsuccessful, while Mrs. Lawson’s expensive habits increased every day.  At length affairs came to such a crisis, that retrenchment or failure was inevitable.  Henry had enough of wisdom and spirit to insist on the first alternative, and Mrs. Lawson was compelled by the pressure of circumstances to yield in a certain degree; the country-house, therefore, was let, Mrs. Lawson assigning as a reason, that she had lost all relish for the country after the death of her dear children, both of whom had died, leaving the parents childless.

It was the morning of a close sultry day in July, and Mrs. Lawson was seated in her drawing-room.  She was dressed carefully and expensively as of old, but she had been dunned and threatened at least half-a-dozen times for the price of the satin dress she wore.  Her face was thin and pale, and there was a look of much care on her countenance; her eyes were restless and sunken, and discontent spoke in their glances as she looked on the chairs, sofas, and window-draperies, which had once been bright-colored, but were now much faded.  She had just come to the resolution of having new covers and hangings, though their mercer’s and upholsterer’s bills were long unsettled, when a visitor was shown into the room.  It was Mrs. Thompson, the wife of a very prosperous and wealthy shopkeeper.

Mrs. Lawson’s thin lips wreathed themselves into bright smiles of welcome, whilst the foul demon took possession of her soul.  Mrs. Thompson’s dress was of the most costly French satin, whilst hers was merely British manufacture.  They had been old school companions and rivals in their girlish days.  During the first years of the married life of each, Mrs. Lawson had outshone Mrs. Thompson in every respect; but now the eclipsed star beamed brightly and scornfully beside the clouds which had rolled over her rival.  Mrs. Thompson was, in face and figure, in dress and speech, the very impersonation of vulgar and ostentatious wealth.

“My goodness, it’s so hot!” she said, loosening the fastening of her bonnet, the delicate French blond and white satin and plume, of which that fabric was composed, contrasting rather painfully at the same time with her flushed mahogany-colored complexion, and ungracefully-formed features.  “Bless me, I’m so glad we’ll get off to our country-house to-morrow.  It’s so very delightful, Mrs. Lawson, to have a country residence to go to.  Goodness me, what a close room, and such a hot, dusty street.  It does just look so queer to me after Fitzherbert-square.”