resence
was worth having? Had he not so wound himself into every recess of her
heart as to make life without seeing him insupportable? Could it be
possible that, after having done all this, he had no regard for her?
Was he so hard, so cruel, such adamant as to deny her at least a
farewell? As for herself, she was now beyond all fear of consequences.
She was ready to die if it were necessary,--ready to lose all the
luxuries of her husband's position rather than never see him again. She
had a heart! She was inclined to doubt whether any one among her
acquaintances was so burdened. Why, oh why, had she thought so
steadfastly of his material interests when he used to kneel at her feet
and ask her to be his bride, before he had ever seen Mary Lovelace?
Then this long epistle was brought to an end. "Come to me to-morrow, A.
H. Destroy this the moment you have read it." The last behest he did
obey. He would put no second letter from this woman in his wife's way.
He tore the paper into minute fragments, and deposited the portions in
different places. That was easily done; but what should be done as to
the other behest? If he went to Berkeley Square again, would he be able
to leave it triumphantly as he had done on his last visit? That he did
not wish to see her for his own sake he was quite certain. But he
thought it incumbent on him to go yet once again. He did not altogether
believe all that story as to her tortured heart. Looking back at what
had passed between them since he had first thought himself to be in
love with her, he could not remember such a depth of love-making on his
part as that which she described. In the ordinary way he had proposed
to her, and had, in the ordinary way, been rejected. Since that, and
since his marriage, surely the protestations of affection had come
almost exclusively from the lady! He thought that it was so, and yet
was hardly sure. If he had got such a hold on her affections as she
described, certainly, then, he owed to her some reparation. But as he
remembered her great head of false hair and her paint, and called to
mind his wife's description of her, he almost protested to himself that
she was deceiving him;--he almost read her rightly. Nevertheless, he
would go once more. He would go and tell her sternly that the thing
must come to an end, and that no more letters were to be written.

He did go and found Jack De Baron there, and heard Jack discourse
enthusiastically about Mrs. Montacute