and that I am broken-hearted about Paul, that I love him from
my very soul, that parting from him is like tearing my heart in
pieces? I know that I must, because he has behaved so very badly,--and
because of that wicked woman! And so I have. But I did not think that
in the very next hour you would bid me give myself to somebody else! I
will never marry Roger Carbury. You may be quite--quite sure that I
shall never marry any one. If you won't take me with you when you go
away with Felix, I must stay behind and try and earn my bread. I
suppose I could go out as a nurse.' Then, without waiting for a reply,
she left the room and betook herself to her own apartment.

Lady Carbury did not even understand her daughter. She could not
conceive that she had in any way acted unkindly in taking the
opportunity of Montague's rejection for pressing the suit of the other
lover. She was simply anxious to get a husband for her daughter,--as
she had been anxious to get a wife for her son,--in order that her
child might live comfortably. But she felt that whenever she spoke
common sense to Hetta, her daughter took it as an offence, and flew
into tantrums, being altogether unable to accommodate herself to the
hard truths of the world. Deep as was the sorrow which her son brought
upon her, and great as was the disgrace, she could feel more sympathy
for him than for the girl. If there was anything that she could not
forgive in life it was romance. And yet she, at any rate, believed
that she delighted in romantic poetry! At the present moment she was
very wretched; and was certainly unselfish in her wish to see her
daughter comfortably settled before she commenced those miserable
roamings with her son which seemed to be her coming destiny.

In these days she thought a good deal of Mr Broune's offer, and of her
own refusal. It was odd that since that refusal she had seen more of
him, and had certainly known much more of him than she had ever seen
or known before. Previous to that little episode their intimacy had
been very fictitious, as are many intimacies. They had played at
being friends, knowing but very little of each other. But now,
during the last five or six weeks,--since she had refused his offer,--
they had really learned to know each other. In the exquisite misery
of her troubles, she had told him the truth about herself and her
son, and he had responded, not by compliments, but by real aid and
true counsel. His whole tone was alte