or when?  On the very next day, the very morning on which she would go and sit,—–­ah so uselessly,—­by the dying man’s bedside, her father was to meet Lord Rufford at the ducal mansion in Piccadilly to see if anything could be dome in that quarter!  It was impossible that she should really care whether John Morton’s lease of life was to be computed at a week’s purchase or at that of a month!  And yet Arabella sat there asking sick-room questions and listening to sickroom replies as though her very nature had been changed.  Lady Augustus heard her daughter inquire what food the sick man took, and then Lady Ushant at great length gave the list of his nourishment.  What sickening hypocrisy! thought Lady Augustus.

Lady Augustus must have known her daughter well; and yet if was not hypocrisy.  The girl’s nature, which had become thoroughly evil from the treatment it had received, was not altered.  Such sudden changes do not occur more frequently than other miracles.  But zealously as she had practised her arts she had not as yet practised them long enough not to be cowed by certain outward circumstances.  There were moments when she still heard in her imagination the sound of that horse’s foot as it struck the skull of the unfortunate fallen rider;—­and now the prospect of the death of this man whom she had known so intimately and who had behaved so well to her, to whom her own conduct had been so foully false,—­for a time brought her back to humanity.  But Lady Augustus had got beyond that and could not at all understand it.

By nine they had all retired for the night.  It was necessary that Lady Ushant should again visit her nephew, and the mother and daughter went to their own rooms.  “I cannot in the least make out what you are doing,” said Lady Augustus in her most severe voice.

“I dare say not, mamma.”

“I have been brought here, at a terrible sacrifice—­”

“Sacrifice!  What sacrifice?  You are as well here as anywhere else.”

“I say I have been brought here at a terrible sacrifice for no purpose whatever.  What use is it to be?  And then you pretend to care what this poor man is eating and drinking and what physic he is taking when, the last time you were in his company, you wouldn’t so much as look at him for fear you should make another man jealous.”

“He was not dying then.”

“Psha!”

“Oh yes.  I know all that.  I do feel a little ashamed of myself when I am almost crying for him,”

“As if you loved him!”

“Dear mamma, I do own that it is foolish.  Having listened to you on these subjects for a dozen years at least I ought to have got rid of all that.  I don’t suppose I do love him.  Two or three weeks ago I almost thought I loved Lord Rufford, and now I am quite sure that I hate him.  But if I heard tomorrow that he had broken his neck out hunting, I ain’t sure but what I should feel something.  But he would not send for me as this man has done.”