essed to
perfection of the graceful restraints and refinements of a lady, she had
all the allurements that feast the eye, all the siren invitations that
seduce the sense--a subtle suggestiveness in her silence, and a sexual
sorcery in her smile.

"Should I be wrong," she asked, suddenly suspending the conversation
which she had thus far persistently restricted to the subject of
Midwinter's walking tour, "if I guessed that you have something on your
mind--something which neither my tea nor my talk can charm away? Are men
as curious as women? Is the something--Me?"

Midwinter struggled against the fascination of looking at her and
listening to her. "I am very anxious to hear what has happened since I
have been away," he said. "But I am still more anxious, Miss Gwilt, not
to distress you by speaking of a painful subject."

She looked at him gratefully. "It is for your sake that I have avoided
the painful subject," she said, toying with her spoon among the dregs
in her empty cup. "But you will hear about it from others, if you don't
hear about it from me; and you ought to know why you found me in that
strange situation, and why you see me here. Pray remember one thing, to
begin with. I don't blame your friend, Mr. Armadale. I blame the people
whose instrument he is."

Midwinter started. "Is it possible," he began, "that Allan can be in
any way answerable--?" He stopped, and looked at Miss Gwilt in silent
astonishment.

She gently laid her hand on his. "Don't be angry with me for only
telling the truth," she said. "Your friend is answerable for everything
that has happened to me--innocently answerable, Mr. Midwinter, I firmly
believe. We are both victims. _He_ is the victim of his position as
the richest single man in the neighborhood; and I am the victim of Miss
Milroy's determination to marry him."

"Miss Milroy?" repeated Midwinter, more and more astonished. "Why, Allan
himself told me--" He stopped again.

"He told you that I was the object of his admiration? Poor fellow,
he admires everybody; his head is almost as empty as this," said Miss
Gwilt, smiling indicatively into the hollow of her cup. She dropped the
spoon, sighed, and became serious again. "I am guilty of the vanity of
having let him admire me," she went on, penitently, "without the excuse
of being able, on my side, to reciprocate even the passing interest that
he felt in me. I don't undervalue his many admirable qualities, or the
excellent position