I kept on hoping.  Some people even said it was a match, and that I was throwing myself away.  Fancy—­throwing myself away—­me!—­who have never been good for anything!  My father did not care much for the man; said he was selfish and grasping.  Possibly he was; but I was in love with him all the same.  Then I met Frank, and Frank fell in love with me.  You know how obstinate Frank is when he has once set his mind on a thing.  Frank determined to have me; and my father was on his side.  I would not listen.  I didn’t give him so much as a chance to propose to me.  And this state of things lasted for quite a long time.  It wasn’t my fault; it wasn’t anybody’s fault.’

‘Just so,’ I agreed, raising my head on one elbow, and listening intently.  It was the first sincere word I had spoken, and I was glad to utter it.

’The man I had fallen in love with came nearer.  He was decidedly tempted.  I began to feel sure of him.  All I wanted was to marry him, whether he loved me a great deal or only a little tiny bit.  I was in that state.  Then he drew away.  He scarcely ever came to the house, and I seemed never to be able to meet him.  And then one day my father showed me something in the Morning Post.  It was a paragraph saying that the man I was in love with was going to marry a woman of title, a widow and the daughter of a peer.  I soon found out she was nearly twice his age.  He had done it to get on.  He was getting on very well by himself, but I suppose that wasn’t fast enough for him.  Carlotta, it nearly killed me.  And I felt so sorry for him.  You can’t guess how sorry I felt for him.  I felt that he didn’t know what he had missed.  Oh, how happy I should have made him!  I should have lived for him.  I should have done everything for him.  I should have ...  You don’t mind me telling you all this?’

I made an imploring gesture.

‘What a shame!’ I burst out.

‘Ah, my dear!’ she said, ‘he didn’t love me.  One can’t blame him.’

‘And then?’ I questioned, with an eagerness that I tried to overcome.

’Frank was so persevering.  And—­and—­I did admire his character.  A woman couldn’t help admiring his character, could she?  And, besides, I honestly thought I had got over the other affair, and that I was in love with him.  I refused him once, and then I married him.  He was as mad for me as I had been for the other one.  Yes, I married him, and we both imagined we were going to be happy.’

‘And why haven’t you been?’ I asked.

‘This is my shame,’ she said.  ’I could not forget the other one.  We soon found that out.’

‘Did you talk about it, you—­and Frank?’ I put in, amazed.

‘Oh no!’ she said.  ’It was never mentioned—­never once during fifteen years.  But he knew; and I knew that he knew.  The other one was always between us—­always, always, always!  The other one was always in my heart.  We did our best, both of us; but it was useless.  The passion of my life was—­it was invincible.  I tried to love Frank.  I could only like him.  Fancy his position!  And we were helpless.  Because, you know, Frank and I are not the sort of people that go and make a scandal—­at least, that was what I thought,’ she sighed.  ’I know different now.  Well, he died the day before yesterday.’