to our hands, and were
married first, we might depend upon your sanction afterwards; that you
had too great a kindness for me to withhold your pardon. I was weak, my
lord--womanish," (she threw the word at him again) "and it happened--God
help me for a fool!--that I thought I loved Lord Rotherby. And so--and
so--"

She sat down again, weakly, miserably, averting her face that she might
hide her tears. He was touched, and he even went so far as to show
something of his sympathy. He approached her again, and laid a benign
hand lightly upon her shoulder.

"But--but--in that case--Oh, the damned villain!--why this mock-parson?"

"Does your lordship not perceive? Must I die of shame? Do you not see?"

"See? No!" He was thoughtful a second; then repeated, "No!"

"I understood," she informed him, a smile--a cruelly bitter
smile--lifting and steadying the corner of her lately quivering lip,
"when he alluded to your lordship's straitened circumstances. He has no
disinheritance to fear because he has no inheritance to look for beyond
the entail, of which you cannot disinherit him. My Lord Rotherby sets a
high value upon himself. He may--I do not know--he may have been in
love with me--though not as I know love, which is all sacrifice, all
self-denial. But by his lights he may have cared for me; he must have
done, by his lights. Had I been a lady of fortune, not a doubt but he
would have made me his wife; as it was, he must aim at a more profitable
marriage, and meanwhile, to gratify his love for me--base as it was--he
would--he would--O God! I cannot say it. You understand, my lord."

My lord swore strenuously. "There is a punishment for such a crime as
this."

"Ay, my lord--and a way to avoid punishment for a gentleman in your
son's position, even did I flaunt my shame in some vain endeavor to have
justice--a thing he knew I never could have done."

My lord swore again. "He shall be punished," he declared emphatically.

"No doubt. God will see to that," she said, a world of faith in her
quivering voice.

My lord's eyes expressed his doubt of divine intervention. He preferred
to speak for himself. "I'll disown the dog. He shall not enter my house
again. You shall not be reminded of what has happened here. Gad! You
were shrewd to have smoked his motives so!" he cried in a burst of
admiration for her insight. "Gad, child! Shouldst have been a lawyer! A
lawyer!"

"If it had not been for Mr. Caryll--" she began, but to w