n't it? In a few days your
admirable common sense will prevail. You will say to yourself: 'She was
that sort of woman, she had that sort of disposition, she was bound to
go to the dogs, anyway!' So you are going to marry the Duchess of
Lenchester, Lawrence!"

He stood up.

"Blanche," he said, "that was all a mistake. I didn't understand. Let us
forget that day altogether. Marry me now, and I will try to make up for
these past years."

She stared at him blankly. The colour in her cheek was like a lurid patch
under the pallor of her skin. She gave a little gasp, and her hand went
to her side. Then she laughed hardly, almost offensively.

"What a man of sentiment," she declared. "After fifteen years, too, and
only just engaged to another woman! No, thank you, my dear Lawrence. I've
lived my life, such as it has been. I'm not so very old, but I look
fifty, and I've vices enough to blacken an entire neighbourhood. Fancy,
if people saw me, and heard that you might have married the Duchess of
Lenchester. They'd hint at an asylum."

"Never mind about other people," he said. "Give me a chance, Blanche, to
show that I'm not such an absolute brute."

"Rubbish," she interrupted. "Fifteen years ago I would have married you.
In fact, I expected to. The reason why I found the courage to shield you
from any unpleasantness that awful day was because I knew if trouble came
and there was any scandal you would feel yourself obliged to marry me,
and I wanted you to marry me--because you wanted to. What an idiot I was!
Now, please go away, Lawrence. Marry the Duchess, if you like, but don't
worry me with your re-awakened conscience. I'm going my own way for the
rest of my few years, and the less I see of you the better I shall be
pleased. You will forgive me--but I have an engagement--down the river!
I really must hurry you off."

Her teeth were set close together, the sobs seemed tangled in her throat.
It seemed to her that all the longing in her life was concentrated in
that one passionate desire, that he should seize her in his arms now,
hold her there--tell her that it had all been a mistake, that the ugly
times were dreams, that after all he had cared--a little! The room swam
round with her, but she pointed smilingly to the door, which her trim
parlour-maid was holding open. And Mannering went.

CHAPTER IX

THE FALTERING OF MANNERING

Mannering left by the afternoon train for Hampshire, where he was to be
the guest