beforehand Grandcourt leaving her without even looking at her
again--herself left behind in lonely uncertainty--hearing nothing from
him--not knowing whether she had done her children harm--feeling that
she had perhaps made him hate her;--all the wretchedness of a creature
who had defeated her own motives. And yet she could not bear to give up
a purpose which was a sweet morsel to her vindictiveness. If she had
not been a mother she would willingly have sacrificed herself to her
revenge--to what she felt to be the justice of hindering another from
getting happiness by willingly giving her over to misery. The two
dominant passions were at struggle. She must satisfy them both.

"Don't let us part in anger, Henleigh," she began, without changing her
voice or attitude: "it is a very little thing I ask. If I were refusing
to give anything up that you call yours it would be different: that
would be a reason for treating me as if you hated me. But I ask such a
little thing. If you will tell me where you are going on the
wedding-day I will take care that the diamonds shall be delivered to
her without scandal. Without scandal," she repeated entreatingly.

"Such preposterous whims make a woman odious," said Grandcourt, not
giving way in look or movement. "What is the use of talking to mad
people?"

"Yes, I am foolish--loneliness has made me foolish--indulge me." Sobs
rose as she spoke. "If you will indulge me in this one folly I will be
very meek--I will never trouble you." She burst into hysterical crying,
and said again almost with a scream--"I will be very meek after that."

There was a strange mixture of acting and reality in this passion. She
kept hold of her purpose as a child might tighten its hand over a small
stolen thing, crying and denying all the while. Even Grandcourt was
wrought upon by surprise: this capricious wish, this childish violence,
was as unlike Lydia's bearing as it was incongruous with her person.
Both had always had a stamp of dignity on them. Yet she seemed more
manageable in this state than in her former attitude of defiance. He
came close up to her again, and said, in his low imperious tone, "Be
quiet, and hear what I tell you, I will never forgive you if you
present yourself again and make a scene."

She pressed her handkerchief against her face, and when she could speak
firmly said, in the muffled voice that follows sobbing, "I will not--if
you will let me have my way--I promise you not to thru