no tie;--but to her
in her present mood he could explain no such distinction. On a sudden
he rushed at the matter in his mind. It had to be done, and must be
done before he brought her back to the house. He was conscious that
he had in no degree ill-used her. He had in nothing deceived her. He
had kept back from her nothing which the truest friendship had called
upon him to reveal to her. And yet he knew that her indignation would
rise hot within her at his first word. "Laura," he said, forgetting
in his confusion to remember her rank, "I had better tell you at once
that I have determined to ask Madame Goesler to be my wife."

"Oh, then;--of course your income is certain."

"If you choose to regard my conduct in that light I cannot help it. I
do not think that I deserve such reproach."

"Why not tell it all? You are engaged to her?"

"Not so. I have not asked her yet."

"And why do you come to me with the story of your intentions,--to me
of all persons in the world? I sometimes think that of all the hearts
that ever dwelt within a man's bosom yours is the hardest."

"For God's sake do not say that of me."

"Do you remember when you came to me about Violet,--to me,--to me? I
could bear it then because she was good and earnest, and a woman that
I could love even though she robbed me. And I strove for you even
against my own heart,--against my own brother. I did; I did. But how
am I to bear it now? What shall I do now? She is a woman I loathe."

"Because you do not know her."

"Not know her! And are your eyes so clear at seeing that you must
know her better than others? She was the Duke's mistress."

"That is untrue, Lady Laura."

"But what difference does it make to me? I shall be sure that you
will have bread to eat, and horses to ride, and a seat in Parliament
without being forced to earn it by your labour. We shall meet no
more, of course."

"I do not think that you can mean that."

"I will never receive that woman, nor will I cross the sill of her
door. Why should I?"

"Should she become my wife,--that I would have thought might have
been the reason why."

"Surely, Phineas, no man ever understood a woman so ill as you do."

"Because I would fain hope that I need not quarrel with my oldest
friend?"

"Yes, sir; because you think you can do this without quarrelling. How
should I speak to her of you; how listen to what she would tell me?
Phineas, you have killed me at last." Why could he not tell her