ant no further justification in repudiating her, were it for the
tenth time.

She was very uncivil to the messenger, and the more so because she
found that the man bore her rudeness without turning upon her and
rending her. When she declared that the police had behaved very
badly, and that Major Mackintosh was inexcusable in troubling
her again, and that she had ceased to care twopence about the
necklace,--the man made no remonstrance to her petulance. He owned
that the trouble was very great, and the police very inefficient. He
almost owned that the major was inexcusable. He did not care what he
owned so that he achieved his object. But when Lizzie said that she
could not see Major Mackintosh at three, and objected equally to two,
four, or five; then the courteous messenger from Scotland Yard did
say a word to make her understand that there must be a meeting,--and
he hinted also that the major was doing a most unusually good-natured
thing in coming to Hertford Street. Of course, Lizzie made the
appointment. If the major chose to come, she would be at home at
three.

As soon as the policeman was gone, she sat alone, with a manner very
much changed from that which she had worn since the arrival of Lord
Fawn's letter,--with a fresh weight of care upon her, greater perhaps
than she had ever hitherto borne. She had had bad moments,--when, for
instance, she had been taken before the magistrates at Carlisle, when
she found the police in her house on her return from the theatre, and
when Lord George had forced her secret from her. But at each of these
periods hope had come renewed before despair had crushed her. Now it
seemed to her that the thing was done and that the game was over.
This chief man of the London police no doubt knew the whole story.
If she could only already have climbed upon some rock, so that there
might be a man bound to defend her,--a man at any rate bound to put
himself forward on her behalf and do whatever might be done in her
defence,--she might have endured it!

What should she do now,--at this minute? She looked at her watch and
found that it was already past one. Mrs. Carbuncle, as she knew,
was closeted up-stairs with Lucinda, whose wedding was fixed for
the following Monday. It was now Friday. Were she to call upon Mrs.
Carbuncle for aid, no aid would be forthcoming unless she were to
tell the whole truth. She almost thought that she would do so. But
then, how great would have been her indiscre