she considered the letter bit by bit, taking it backwards, and
sipping her tea every now and then amidst her thoughts. No; she had
no home, no house, there. She had no husband;--not as yet. He spoke
of their engagement as though it were a betrothal, as betrothals used
to be of yore; as though they were already in some sort married. Such
betrothals were not made now-a-days. There still remained, both to
him and to her, a certain liberty of extricating themselves from this
engagement. Should he come to her and say that he found that their
contemplated marriage would not make him happy, would not she release
him without a word of reproach? Would not she regard him as much
more honourable in doing so than in adhering to a marriage which was
distasteful to him? And if she would so judge him,--judge him and
certainly acquit him, was it not reasonable that she under similar
circumstances should expect a similar acquittal? Then she declared
to herself that she carried on this argument within her own breast
simply as an argument, induced to do so by that assertion on his part
that he was already her husband,--that his house was even now her
home. She had no intention of using that power which was still hers.
She had no wish to go back from her pledged word. She thought that
she had no such wish. She loved him much, and admired him even more
than she loved him. He was noble, generous, clever, good,--so good as
to be almost perfect; nay, for aught she knew he was perfect. Would
that he had some faults! Would that he had! Would that he had! How
could she, full of faults as she knew herself to be,--how could she
hope to make happy a man perfect as he was! But then there would
be no doubt as to her present duty. She loved him, and that was
everything. Having told him that she loved him, and having on that
score accepted his love, nothing but a change in her heart towards
him could justify her in seeking to break the bond which bound them
together. She did love him, and she loved him only.

But she had once loved her cousin. Yes, truly it was so. In her
thoughts she did not now deny it. She had loved him, and was
tormented by a feeling that she had had a more full delight in that
love than in this other that had sprung up subsequently. She had told
herself that this had come of her youth;--that love at twenty was
sweeter than it could be afterwards. There had been a something of
rapture in that earlier dream which could never be repea