to Lord George. She had opened her house to him, and her heart. She
had told him her great secret. She had implored his protection.
She had thrown herself into his arms. And now he had rejected her.
That he should have been rough to her was only in accordance with
the poetical attributes which she had attributed to him. But his
roughness should have been streaked with tenderness. He should not
have left her roughly. In the whole interview he had not said a
loving word to her. He had given her advice,--which might be good or
bad,--but he had given it as to one whom he despised. He had spoken
to her throughout the interview exactly as he might have spoken to
Sir Griffin Tewett. She could not analyse her feelings thoroughly,
but she felt that because of what had passed between them, by reason
of his knowledge of her secret, he had robbed her of all that
observance which was due to her as a woman and a lady. She had been
roughly used before,--by people of inferior rank who had seen through
her ways. Andrew Gowran had insulted her. Patience Crabstick had
argued with her. Benjamin, the employer of thieves, had been familiar
with her. But hitherto, in what she was pleased to call her own set,
she had always been treated with that courtesy which ladies seldom
fail to receive. She understood it all. She knew how much of mere
word-service there often is in such complimentary usage. But,
nevertheless, it implies respect, and an acknowledgement of the
position of her who is so respected. Lord George had treated her as
one schoolboy treats another.

And he had not spoken to her one word of love. Love will excuse
roughness. Spoken love will palliate even spoken roughness. Had he
once called her his own Lizzie, he might have scolded her as he
pleased,--might have abused her to the top of his bent. But as there
had been nothing of the manner of a gentleman to a lady, so also had
there been nothing of the lover to his mistress. That dream was over.
Lord George was no longer a Corsair, but a brute.

But what should she do? Even a brute may speak truth. She was to have
gone to a theatre that evening with Mrs. Carbuncle, but she stayed
at home thinking over her position. She heard nothing throughout the
day from the police; and she made up her mind that, unless she were
stopped by the police, she would go to Scotland on the day but one
following. She thought that she was sure that she would do so; but,
of course, she must be guided by