den thought in
them.

"Oh no; I hear so little of those things."

Rosamond had not foreseen that question and answer in setting out to
pay her visit; she had simply meant to gather any information which
would help her to avert the parting with her own house under
circumstances thoroughly disagreeable to her. As to the untruth in her
reply, she no more reflected on it than she did on the untruth there
was in her saying that appearances had very little to do with
happiness. Her object, she was convinced, was thoroughly justifiable:
it was Lydgate whose intention was inexcusable; and there was a plan in
her mind which, when she had carried it out fully, would prove how very
false a step it would have been for him to have descended from his
position.

She returned home by Mr. Borthrop Trumbull's office, meaning to call
there. It was the first time in her life that Rosamond had thought of
doing anything in the form of business, but she felt equal to the
occasion. That she should be obliged to do what she intensely
disliked, was an idea which turned her quiet tenacity into active
invention. Here was a case in which it could not be enough simply to
disobey and be serenely, placidly obstinate: she must act according to
her judgment, and she said to herself that her judgment was
right--"indeed, if it had not been, she would not have wished to act on
it."

Mr. Trumbull was in the back-room of his office, and received Rosamond
with his finest manners, not only because he had much sensibility to
her charms, but because the good-natured fibre in him was stirred by
his certainty that Lydgate was in difficulties, and that this
uncommonly pretty woman--this young lady with the highest personal
attractions--was likely to feel the pinch of trouble--to find herself
involved in circumstances beyond her control. He begged her to do him
the honor to take a seat, and stood before her trimming and comporting
himself with an eager solicitude, which was chiefly benevolent.
Rosamond's first question was, whether her husband had called on Mr.
Trumbull that morning, to speak about disposing of their house.

"Yes, ma'am, yes, he did; he did so," said the good auctioneer, trying
to throw something soothing into his iteration. "I was about to fulfil
his order, if possible, this afternoon. He wished me not to
procrastinate."

"I called to tell you not to go any further, Mr. Trumbull; and I beg of
you not to mention what has been said o