" The words to her sense had been so all-important, had meant
so much, had seemed to be so final, that they hardly wanted further
corroboration. Then, indeed, had come the great fault,--the fault
which she had doubted whether she could ever pardon; and she, because
of the heinousness of that offence, had been unable to answer the
question that had been asked. But the offence, such as it was, had
not lightened the solemnity of her assurance, as far as love went,
that Ralph ought to be her own after the speaking of such words as he
had spoken. There were those troubles about money, but yet she was
entitled to regard him as her own. Then had come the written offer
from the other Ralph to Mary,--the offer written in the moment of
his believed prosperity; and it had been so natural that Clarissa
should tell her cousin that as regarded the splendour of position
there should be no jealousy between them. Clarissa did not herself
think much of a lover who wrote letters instead of coming and
speaking,--had perhaps an idea that open speech, even though offence
might follow, was better than formal letters; but all that was Mary's
affair. This very respectful Ralph was Mary's lover, and if Mary were
satisfied, she would not quarrel with the well-behaved young man. She
would not even quarrel with him because he was taking from her own
Ralph the inheritance which for so many years had been believed to be
his own. Thus in the plenitude of her affection and in the serenity
of her heart she had told everything to her cousin. And now also her
father knew it all. How this had come to pass she did not think to
inquire. She suspected no harm from Patience. The thing had been so
clear, that all the world might see it. Ralph, that false one, knew
it also. Who could know it so well as he did? Had not those very
words been spoken by him,--been repeated by him? Now she was as one
stricken, where wounds could not be hidden.

On that day Ralph was driven back to town in his cab, in a rather
disheartened condition, and no more was seen or heard of him for the
present at Popham Villa. His late guardian had behaved very ill to
him in telling Mary Bonner the story of Polly Neefit. That was his
impression,--feeling sure that Mary had alluded to the unfortunate
affair with the breeches-maker's daughter, of which she could have
heard tidings only from Sir Thomas. As to Clarissa, he had not
exactly forgotten the little affair on the lawn; but to his eyes t