almost mute for the following days.  In her heart there fought passions of which she had not known herself capable; above all a scorn so fierce, that had she but opened her lips it must have uttered itself.  That she lived down by the aid of many strange expedients; but she formed a purpose, which seemed indeed nothing less than a duty, to use the opportunity of her first visit to London to seek for means of helping Emma Vine and her sister.  Her long illness had not weakened this resolve; but now that she was in London the difficulties of carrying it out proved insuperable.  She had always imagined herself procuring the services of some agent, but what agent was at hand?  She might go herself to the address she had noted, but it was to incur a danger too great even for the end in view.  If Mutimer heard of such a visit—­and she had no means of assuring herself that communication between him and those people did not still exist—­how would it affect him?

Adela’s position would not suffer the risk of ever so slight a difference between herself and her husband.  She had come to fear him, and now there was growing in her a yet graver fear of herself.

The condition of her health favoured remissness and postponement.  An hour of mental agitation left her with headache and a sense of bodily feebleness.  Emma Vine she felt in the end obliged to dismiss from her thoughts; the difficulty concerning Alice she put off from day to day.

The second week of her visit was just ending, and the return to Wanley was in view, when, on entering the drawing-room in the afternoon, she found Hubert Eldon sitting there with Mrs. Westlake.  If it had been possible to draw back her foot and escape unnoticed!  But she was observed; Hubert had already risen.  Adela fancied that Stella was closely observing her; it was not so in reality, but the persuasion wrung her heart to courage.  Hubert, who did make narrow observance of her face, was struck with the cold dignity of her smile.  In speaking to him she was much less friendly than at the Boscobels’.  He thought he understood, and was in a measure right.  A casual meeting in the world was one thing; a visit which might be supposed half intended to herself called for another demeanour.  He addressed a few remarks to her, then pursued his conversation with Mrs. Westlake.  Adela had time to consider his way of speaking; it was entirely natural, that of a polished man who has the habit of society, and takes pleasure in it.  With utter inconsistency she felt pain that he could be so at his ease in her presence.  In all likelihood he had come with no other end save that of continuing his acquaintance with Mrs. Westlake.  As she listened to his voice, once more an inexplicable and uncontrollable mood possessed her—­a mood of petulance, of impatience with him and with herself; with him for almost ignoring her presence, with herself for the distant way in which she had met him.  An insensate rebellion against circumstances encouraged her to