not care for that; he was sure to rage and rave; he
was a spoiled child, who never in his life had been contradicted or
thwarted. The more angry he was the better; she knew by experience the
hotter the fire the more quickly it burns away. Had he been cool, calm,
collected and silent she would have dreaded the after consequences.

"He will exhaust himself with furious words," she said to herself with a
slow smile. "When he has done that, all danger will be over."

She had smiled when she heard of his rapid journeys, his fierce
denunciations, his violent invectives, his repeated oaths that no power
on earth should take him from his young wife.

She had smiled when the earl, whose conscience was more tender than her
own, had said over and over again that it was a terrible thing to set
aside a marriage, to call a religious ceremony null and void. He would
not have done it himself, but my lady had firm nerves, and a will of
iron; nothing daunted her. She laughed at his persuasions and arguments.
She told him the day would come on which he would thank Heaven that the
honor of his name and race had been saved from destruction. My lady was
triumphant. Knowing her son was spending his whole time in these
journeys, she had requested Mr. Sewell himself to go to the pretty
little villa at Richmond, to see the young wife himself, and tell her
the truth about the marriage; to speak what she was pleased to call
plain English to her; to tell her that in the eyes of the law and of all
honest, honorable men she was not his wife; that every hour she called
herself by his name, or lived under his roof, added to her disgrace and
increased her shame.

"You can tell her," said my lady, with ill-concealed contempt, "that
next June he will be twenty-one, and then he can please himself; he can
remarry her if he will; no one then will have the least control over
him; he will be his own master and can do as he likes. In all
probability," she continued, "the girl will please herself with fanciful
ideas about his being true to her; do not contradict her if she believes
it--she will part from him more easily; but, believe me, my son will
never return to her--never!"

Mr. Sewell had tried in vain to escape the interview; he was neither
particularly tender of heart nor given to sentiment, but he shrunk from
seeing the young girl who called herself Lady Chandos; he shrunk from
telling her the truth; but my lady was inexorable; he must do it, and no