t about my money? You
knew when you gave me your word that I had next to none. Now I have
ample means of my own. You knew that I was a widow. What more? If you
wish to hear of the wretch that was my husband, I will deluge you with
stories. I should have thought that a man who loved would not have
cared to hear much of one--who perhaps was loved once.'

He knew that his position was perfectly indefensible. It would have
been better for him not to have alluded to any reasons, but to have
remained firm to his assertion that he loved another woman. He must
have acknowledged himself to be false, perjured, inconstant, and very
base. A fault that may be venial to those who do not suffer, is
damnable, deserving of an eternity of tortures, in the eyes of the
sufferer. He must have submitted to be told that he was a fiend, and
might have had to endure whatever of punishment a lady in her wrath
could inflict upon him. But he would have been called upon for no
further mental effort. His position would have been plain. But now he
was all at sea. 'I wish to hear nothing,' he said.

'Then why tell me that we know so little of each other? That, surely,
is a poor excuse to make to a woman,--after you have been false to her.
Why did you not say that when we were in New York together? Think of
it, Paul. Is not that mean?'

'I do not think that I am mean.'

'No;--a man will lie to a woman, and justify it always. Who is--this
lady?'

He knew that he could not at any rate be warranted in mentioning Hetta
Carbury's name. He had never even asked her for her love, and
certainly had received no assurance that he was loved. 'I cannot name
her.'

'And I, who have come hither from California to see you, am to return
satisfied because you tell me that you have--changed your affections?
That is to be all, and you think that fair? That suits your own mind,
and leaves no sore spot in your heart? You can do that, and shake
hands with me, and go away,--without a pang, without a scruple?'

'I did not say so.'

'And you are the man who cannot bear to hear me praise Augustus
Melmotte because you think him dishonest! Are you a liar?'

'I hope not.'

'Did you say you would be my husband? Answer me, sir.'

'I did say so.'

'Do you now refuse to keep your promise? You shall answer me.'

'I cannot marry you.'

'Then, sir, are you not a liar?' It would have taken him long to
explain to her, even had he been able, that a man may break a promise