“She would act in that way.  I do not know what she would say.”

“Then let her do so, and leave him to be the judge of his own happiness.  Let her pledge herself that no reproaches shall come from her, and I will pledge myself equally.  It was I who loved him first, and it is I who have brought him into this trouble.  I owe him everything.  Had I been true to him, he would never have thought of; never have seen Miss Florence Burton.”

All that was no doubt true, but it did not touch the question of Florence’s right.  The fact on which Mrs. Burton wished to insist, if only she knew how, was this, that Florence had not sinned at all, and that Florence therefore ought not to bear any part of the punishment.  It might be very true that Harry’s fault was to be excused in part because of Lady Ongar’s greater and primary fault, but why should Florence be the scapegoat?

“You should think of his honor as well as his happiness,” said Mrs. Burton at last.

“That is rather severe, Mrs. Burton, considering that it is said to me in my own house.  Am I so low as that, that his honor will be tarnished if I become his wife?” But she, in saying this, was thinking of things of which Mrs. Burton knew nothing.

“His honor will be tarnished,” said she, “if he do not marry her whom he has promised to marry.  He was welcomed by her father and mother to their house, and then he made himself master of her heart.  But it was not his till he had asked for it, and had offered his own and his hand in return for it.  Is he not bound to keep his promise?  He can not be bound to you after any such fashion as that.  If you are solicitous for his welfare, you should know that if he would live with the reputation of a gentleman, there is only one course open to him.”

“It is the old story,” said Lady Ongar; “the old story!  Has not somebody said that the gods laugh at the perjuries of lovers?  I do not know that men are inclined to be much more severe than the gods.  These broken hearts are what women are doomed to bear.”

“And that is to be your answer to me, Lady Ongar?”

“No, that is not my answer to you.  That is the excuse I make for Harry Clavering.  My answer to you has been very explicit.  Pardon me if I say that it has been more explicit than you had any right to expect.  I have told you that I am prepared to take any step that may be most conducive to the happiness of the man whom I once injured, but whom I have always loved.  I will do this, let it cost myself what it may; and I will do this, let the cost to any other woman be what it may.  You can not expect that I should love another woman better than myself.”  She said this, still standing, not without something more than vehemence in her tone.  In her voice, in her manner and in her eye there was that which amounted almost to ferocity.  She was declaring that some sacrifice must be made, and that she reeked little whether it should be of herself or