of it, because some spirit has given it to him. At
last some morning it turns into slate stones, and then he has to be a
water-carrier, and is happy ever afterwards, and marries the king's
daughter. What sort of a king's son will there be for me when this
turns into slate stones? Good night, Frank." Then she went off with
her diamonds and her bed-candle.

On the following day Frank suggested that there should be a business
conversation. "That means that I am to sit silent and obedient while
you lecture me," she said. But she submitted, and they went together
into the little sitting-room which looked out over the sea,--the room
where she kept her Shelley and her Byron, and practised her music
and did water-colours, and sat, sometimes, dreaming of a Corsair.
"And now, my gravest of Mentors, what must a poor ignorant female
Telemachus do, so that the world may not trample on her too heavily?"
He began by telling her what had happened between himself and
Lord Fawn, and recommended her to write to that unhappy nobleman,
returning any present that she might have received from him, and
expressing, with some mild but intelligible sarcasm, her regret that
their paths should have crossed each other. "I've worse in store for
his lordship than that," said Lizzie.

"Do you mean by any personal interview?"

"Certainly."

"I think you are wrong, Lizzie."

"Of course you do. Men have become so soft themselves, that they no
longer dare to think even of punishing those who behave badly, and
they expect women to be softer and more faineant than themselves. I
have been ill-used."

"Certainly you have."

"And I will be revenged. Look here, Frank; if your view of these
things is altogether different from mine, let us drop the subject.
Of all living human beings you are the one that is most to me now.
Perhaps you are more than any other ever was. But, even for you, I
cannot alter my nature. Even for you I would not alter it if I could.
That man has injured me, and all the world knows it. I will have
my revenge, and all the world shall know that. I did wrong;--I am
sensible enough of that."

"What wrong do you mean?"

"I told a man whom I never loved that I would marry him. God knows
that I have been punished."

"Perhaps, Lizzie, it is better as it is."

"A great deal better. I will tell you now that I could never induce
myself to go into church with that man as his bride. With a man I
didn't love I might have done so, but not