prepared to take any step that may be most conducive
to the happiness of the man whom I once injured, but whom I have always
loved. I will do this, let it cost myself what it may; and I will do
this, let the cost to any other woman be what it may. You can not expect
that I should love another woman better than myself." She said this,
still standing, not without something more than vehemence in her tone.
In her voice, in her manner and in her eye there was that which amounted
almost to ferocity. She was declaring that some sacrifice must be made,
and that she reeked little whether it should be of herself or of
another. As she would immolate herself without hesitation if the
necessity should exist, so would she see Florence Burton destroyed
without a twinge of remorse if the destruction of Florence would serve
the purpose which she had in view. You and I, oh reader, may feel that
the man for whom all this was to be done was not worth the passion. He
had proved himself to be very far from such worth. But the passion,
nevertheless, was there, and the woman was honest in what she was
saying.

After this, Mrs Burton got herself out of the room as soon as she found
an opening which allowed her to go. In making her farewell speech, she
muttered some indistinct apology for the visit which she had been bold
enough to make. "Not at all," said Lady Ongar. "You have been quite
right; you are fighting your battle for the friend you love bravely; and
were it not that the cause of the battle must, I fear, separate us
hereafter, I should be proud to know one who fights so well for her
friends. And when this is all over and has been settled, in whatever way
it may be settled, let Miss Burton know from me that I have been taught
to hold her name and character in the highest possible esteem." Mrs.
Burton made no attempt at further speech, but left the room with a low
courtesy.

Till she found herself out in the street, she was unable to think
whether she had done most harm or most good by her visit to Bolton
Street; whether she had in any way served Florence, or whether she had
simply confessed to Florence's rival the extent of her sister's misery.
That Florence herself would feel the latter to be the case when she
should know it all, Mrs. Burton was well aware. Her own ears had tingled
with shame as Harry Clavering had been discussed as a grand prize for
which her sister was contending with another woman, and contending with
so small a