And this perhaps is the place to record what only those acquainted with grief will understand, and not all of those,--for grief has many contradictory fashions.
Till he had loved Jenny, women had played little or no part in Theophil's life; but with Jenny's death he found, to his surprise, that the idea of woman was strangely sweet to him.

His eyes were drawn after women in the street, and he found himself longing sometimes for some woman on whose shoulder he might lean his head and weep out his grief for Jenny! He loved death because Jenny had died; was he to love women because Jenny had been a woman?
Perhaps his feet had wandered in dangerous paths at this time, had it not been for the restrictions which his calling laid upon him.
These, however, did not deny him the theatre, which it had been part of his programme at New Zion to advocate, though there was seldom anything worth seeing at Coalchester Theatre Royal.

Yet sometimes a good London company would call there on its provincial progress, and it chanced one day, looking into a shop window, that Theophil caught sight of a photograph of a woman that startled him with its remarkable resemblance to Jenny.

It was the prima donna of a Gaiety burlesque.

Such was the strange shape Jenny had for the moment taken! For the first time after her death Theophil was at the theatre that evening.