might be ever so strong in bidding her to
desert him, her heart, she knew, would be stronger than her reason. He
was the one thing in the world that overpowered her. In all other
matters she could scheme, and contrive, and pretend; could get the
better of her feelings and fight the world with a double face,
laughing at illusions and telling herself that passions and
preferences were simply weapons to be used. But her love for her son
mastered her,--and she knew it. As it was so, could it be fit that she
should marry another man?

And then her liberty! Even though Felix should bring her to utter
ruin, nevertheless she would be and might remain a free woman. Should
the worse come to the worst she thought that she could endure a
Bohemian life in which, should all her means have been taken from her,
she could live on what she earned. Though Felix was a tyrant after a
kind, he was not a tyrant who could bid her do this or that. A
repetition of marriage vows did not of itself recommend itself to her.
As to loving the man, liking his caresses, and being specially happy
because he was near her,--no romance of that kind ever presented itself
to her imagination. How would it affect Felix and her together,--and Mr
Broune as connected with her and Felix? If Felix should go to the
dogs, then would Mr Broune not want her. Should Felix go to the stars
instead of the dogs, and become one of the gilded ornaments of the
metropolis, then would not he and she want Mr Broune. It was thus that
she regarded the matter.

She thought very little of her daughter as she considered all this.
There was a home for Hetta, with every comfort, if Hetta would only
condescend to accept it. Why did not Hetta marry her cousin Roger
Carbury and let there be an end of that trouble? Of course Hetta must
live wherever her mother lived till she should marry; but Hetta's life
was so much at her own disposal that her mother did not feel herself
bound to be guided in the great matter by Hetta's predispositions.

But she must tell Hetta should she ultimately make up her mind to
marry the man, and in that case the sooner this was done the better.
On that night she did not make up her mind. Ever and again as she
declared to herself that she would not marry him, the picture of a
comfortable assured home over her head, and the conviction that the
editor of the 'Morning Breakfast Table' would be powerful for all
things, brought new doubts to her mind. But she could