"
"The Anertons never separated, did they?"
"Separated? Bless you, no. He never would have left Rendle! And besides,
he was very fond of his wife."
"And she?"
"Oh, she saw he was the kind of man who was fated to make himself
ridiculous, and she never interfered with his natural tendencies."
From Mrs. Memorall, Danyers further learned that Mrs. Anerton, whose
husband had died some years before her poet, now divided her life between
Rome, where she had a small apartment, and England, where she occasionally
went to stay with those of her friends who had been Rendle's. She had been
engaged, for some time after his death, in editing some juvenilia which he
had bequeathed to her care; but that task being accomplished, she had been
left without definite occupation, and Mrs. Memorall, on the occasion of
their last meeting, had found her listless and out of spirits.
"She misses him too much--her life is too empty. I told her so--I told her
she ought to marry."
"Oh!"
"Why not, pray? She's a young woman still--what many people would call
young," Mrs. Memorall interjected, with a parenthetic glance at the
mirror. "Why not accept the inevitable and begin over again? All the
King's horses and all the King's men won't bring Rendle to life-and
besides, she didn't marry _him_ when she had the chance."
Danyers winced slightly at this rude fingering of his idol. Was it
possible that Mrs. Memorall did not see what an anti-climax such a
marriage would have been? Fancy Rendle "making an honest woman" of Silvia;
for so society would have viewed it! How such a reparation would have
vulgarized their past--it would have been like "restoring" a masterpiece;
and how exquisite must have been the perceptions of the woman who, in
defiance of appearances, and perhaps of her own secret inclination, chose
to go down to posterity as Silvia rather than as Mrs.
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