‘Well,’ said the lady in continuation, ‘who is he?’

Her companion was desperately determined not to tell his name:  she too much feared a taunt when Miss Aldclyffe’s fiery mood again ruled her tongue.

’Won’t you tell me? not tell me after all the affection I have shown?’

‘I will, perhaps, another day.’

’Did you wear a hat and white feather in Budmouth for the week or two previous to your coming here?’

‘Yes.’

’Then I have seen you and your lover at a distance!  He rowed you round the bay with your brother.’

‘Yes.’

’And without your brother—­fie!  There, there, don’t let that little heart beat itself to death:  throb, throb:  it shakes the bed, you silly thing.  I didn’t mean that there was any harm in going alone with him.  I only saw you from the Esplanade, in common with the rest of the people.  I often run down to Budmouth.  He was a very good figure:  now who was he?’

‘I—­I won’t tell, madam—­I cannot indeed!’

’Won’t tell—­very well, don’t.  You are very foolish to treasure up his name and image as you do.  Why, he has had loves before you, trust him for that, whoever he is, and you are but a temporary link in a long chain of others like you:  who only have your little day as they have had theirs.’

’’Tisn’t true! ’tisn’t true! ‘tisn’t true!’ cried Cytherea in an agony of torture.  ’He has never loved anybody else, I know—­I am sure he hasn’t.’

Miss Aldclyffe was as jealous as any man could have been.  She continued—­

’He sees a beautiful face and thinks he will never forget it, but in a few weeks the feeling passes off, and he wonders how he could have cared for anybody so absurdly much.’

’No, no, he doesn’t—­What does he do when he has thought that—­Come, tell me—­tell me!’

’You are as hot as fire, and the throbbing of your heart makes me nervous.  I can’t tell you if you get in that flustered state.’

‘Do, do tell—­O, it makes me so miserable! but tell—­come tell me!’

‘Ah—­the tables are turned now, dear!’ she continued, in a tone which mingled pity with derision—­

   ’"Love’s passions shall rock thee
    As the storm rocks the ravens on high,
    Bright reason will mock thee
    Like the sun from a wintry sky.”

’What does he do next?—­Why, this is what he does next:  ruminate on what he has heard of women’s romantic impulses, and how easily men torture them when they have given way to those feelings, and have resigned everything for their hero.  It may be that though he loves you heartily now—­that is, as heartily as a man can—­and you love him in return, your loves may be impracticable and hopeless, and you may be separated for ever.  You, as the weary, weary years pass by will fade and fade—­bright eyes will fade—­and you will perhaps then die early—­true to him to your latest breath, and believing him to be