ith anger.

'And who is to blame for it?' he cried passionately. 'Who drove her to
it?'

'Oh, don't, don't come back to that again, Horace!' pleaded the other.
'How can any one drive a girl into a life of scandalous immorality? It
was in herself, dear. She took to it naturally, as so many women do.
Remember that letter she wrote from Brussels, which I sent you a copy
of--'

'It was a forgery!' thundered Horace. 'I have asked her. She says she
never wrote any such letter.'

'Then she lies, as such creatures always do.'

Bitterness of apprehension overcame Mrs. Damerel's prudence. With
flashing eyes, she faced the young man and dared his wrath. As they
stood thus, the two were astonishingly like each other, from forehead to
chin.

'It's no use, I'm not going to quarrel with you, aunt. Think what you
like of Miss. French, _I_ know the truth about her.'

He slipped from the table, and moved away.

'I will say no more, Horace. You are independent, and must have your own
acquaintances. But after you are married--'

The other voice interrupted.

'I had better tell you at once. I shall not marry Miss. Chittle. I am
going to write this afternoon to break it off.'

Mrs. Damerel went pale, and stood motionless.

'Horace, you can't be so wicked as that!'

'It's better,' he pursued recklessly, 'to break it off now, than to
marry her and make her miserable. I don't love her, and I have never
really thought I did. I was going to marry her only for her money.
Why she wants to marry me, I don't know. There's something wrong; she
doesn't really care for me.'

'She does! I assure you she does!'

'Then I can't help it.'

Mrs. Damerel went close to him, and touched his arm.

'My dear,'--her voice was so low that it seemed terror-stricken,--'you
don't mean to marry--any one else?'

He drew apart, she followed him.

'Oh, that would be terrible! What can I say to open your eyes and show
you what you are doing? Horace, have you no sense of honour? Can you
find it in your heart to cast off a girl who loves you, and thinks that
in so short a time she will be your wife?'

'This again is your fault,' he replied, with a violence which proved the
conflict of emotions in him. 'But for you, I should never have proposed
to Winifred--never dreamt of such a thing. What do I want with her
money? I have enough of my own, and I shall make more in business. Why
have you driven me into this? Did you expect to get some profit out of