ngry as a lioness who had lost
her cub. She had almost ignored that other lady whose name she had not
yet heard. She had spoken of her lover's entanglement with that other
lady as a light thing which might easily be put aside. She had said
much of her own wrongs, but had not said much of the wickedness of the
wrong-doer. Invited as she had invited him, surely he could not but
come to her! And then, in her reference to money, not descending to
the details of dollars and cents, she had studied how to make him feel
that he might marry her without imprudence. As she read it over to
herself she thought that there was a tone through it of natural
feminine uncautious eagerness. She put her letter up in an envelope,
stuck a stamp on it and addressed it,--and then threw herself back in
her chair to think of her position.

He should marry her,--or there should be something done which should
make the name of Winifred Hurtle known to the world! She had no plan
of revenge yet formed. She would not talk of revenge,--she told herself
that she would not even think of revenge till she was quite sure that
revenge would be necessary. But she did think of it, and could not
keep her thoughts from it for a moment. Could it be possible that she,
with all her intellectual gifts as well as those of her outward
person, should be thrown over by a man whom well as she loved him,--and
she did love him with all her heart,--she regarded as greatly inferior
to herself! He had promised to marry her; and he should marry her, or
the world should hear the story of his perjury!

Paul Montague felt that he was surrounded by difficulties as soon as
he read the letter. That his heart was all the other way he was quite
sure; but yet it did seem to him that there was no escape from his
troubles open to him. There was not a single word in this woman's
letter that he could contradict. He had loved her and had promised to
make her his wife,--and had determined to break his word to her because
he found that she was enveloped in dangerous mystery. He had so
resolved before he had ever seen Hetta Carbury, having been made to
believe by Roger Carbury that a marriage with an unknown American
woman,--of whom he only did know that she was handsome and clever would
be a step to ruin. The woman, as Roger said, was an adventuress,--might
never have had a husband,--might at this moment have two or three,--might
be overwhelmed with debt,--might be anything bad, dangerous, an