ten come
and stay with us."

A great compassion flooded Rachel's heart for this poor creature, with
its house of cards. Then her face became fixed as a surgeon's who gets
out his knife.

"I think I ought to tell you--you ought to know--that I care for Mr.
Scarlett."

"He is mine," said Lady Newhaven instantly, her blue eyes dilating.

"He is unmarried, and I am unmarried," said Rachel, hoarsely. "I don't
know how it came about, but I have gradually become attached to him."

"He is not unmarried. It is false. He is my husband in the sight of
Heaven. I have always, through everything, looked upon him as such."

This seemed more probable than that Heaven had so regarded him. Rachel
did not answer. She had confided her love to no one, not even to Hester;
and to speak of it to Lady Newhaven had been like tearing the words out
of herself with hot pincers.

"I knew he was poor, but I did, not know he was as poor as that," said
Lady Newhaven, after a pause.

Rachel got up suddenly, and moved away to the fireplace. She felt it
would be horribly easy to strangle that voice.

"And you came down here pretending to be my friend, while all the time
you were stealing his heart from me."

Still Rachel did not answer. Her forehead was pressed against the
mantel-shelf. She prayed urgently that she might stay upon the
hearth-rug, that whatever happened she might not go near the sofa.

"And you think he is in love with you?"

"I do."

"Are you not rather credulous? But I suppose he has told you over and
over again that he cares for you yourself alone. Is the wedding-day
fixed?"

"No, he has not asked me to marry him yet. I wanted to tell you before
it happened."

Lady Newhaven threw herself back on the sofa. She laughed softly. A
little mirror hung tilted at an angle which allowed her to see herself
as she lay. She saw a very beautiful woman, and then she turned and
looked at Rachel, who had no beauty, as she understood it, and laughed
again.

"My poor dear," she said, in a voice that made Rachel wince, "Hugh is no
better than the worst. He has made love to you _pour passer le temps_,
and you have taken him seriously, like the dear, simple woman you are.
But he will never marry you. You own he has not proposed? Of course not.
Men are like that. It is hateful of them, but they will do it. They are
the vainest creatures in the world. Don't you see that the reason he has
not asked you is because he knew that Edward had t