treated like ladies in undeserved distress. I
confess he frightened me--the mean impostor! the cowardly blackguard!
Do you understand now how I hated him? Do you understand why I am
taking all this trouble--thankfully taking it--to gratify the curiosity
of the meritorious young gentleman who hunted him down?

Well, to go on. He was hardly fool enough to drive me to downright
desperation. I was not the sort of woman whom it was quite safe to
hunt into a corner--he knew that, and wisely quieted me with proposals
for the future.

I deserved some reward (he was kind enough to say) for the service I
had done him, and some compensation (he was so obliging as to add) for
what I had suffered. He was quite willing--generous scoundrel!--to
make me a handsome yearly allowance, payable quarterly, on two
conditions. First, I was to hold my tongue--in my own interests as
well as in his. Secondly, I was not to stir away from Welmingham
without first letting him know, and waiting till I had obtained his
permission. In my own neighbourhood, no virtuous female friends would
tempt me into dangerous gossiping at the tea-table. In my own
neighbourhood, he would always know where to find me. A hard
condition, that second one--but I accepted it.

What else was I to do? I was left helpless, with the prospect of a
coming incumbrance in the shape of a child. What else was I to do?
Cast myself on the mercy of my runaway idiot of a husband who had
raised the scandal against me? I would have died first. Besides, the
allowance WAS a handsome one. I had a better income, a better house
over my head, better carpets on my floors, than half the women who
turned up the whites of their eyes at the sight of me. The dress of
Virtue, in our parts, was cotton print. I had silk.

So I accepted the conditions he offered me, and made the best of them,
and fought my battle with my respectable neighbours on their own
ground, and won it in course of time--as you saw yourself. How I kept
his Secret (and mine) through all the years that have passed from that
time to this, and whether my late daughter, Anne, ever really crept
into my confidence, and got the keeping of the Secret too--are
questions, I dare say, to which you are curious to find an answer.
Well! my gratitude refuses you nothing. I will turn to a fresh page
and give you the answer immediately. But you must excuse one
thing--you must excuse my beginning, Mr. Hartright, with an expression