"He will set us free—we will marry in six months, and begin a new existence. What a maddening thing life is—a mass of mistakes. One's hands are tied, and fate comes and mocks at us—but I intend to cut the cords. Here is Elinor's life wasted with a boor, who values her less than a quire of foolscap, whilst I would lay down my life for her." In the midst of this heroic speech potatoes were offered and declined. "Listen," he continued eagerly, "my plan is this——" "Hush," said Angel, "not so loud. Mrs. Crabbe opposite is exhibiting the liveliest interest in your conversation,—and I don't want to hear any more." "You must hear," he said inflexibly. "Well, if I must, I suppose I must. I cannot escape from the table—I won't agree with one word you say—so you are warned." "I want Elinor to come to England with me. I am now a wealthy man; after six months she will become my wife, and we shall be unutterably happy." "For a year—perhaps, and then you will both begin to realise your mistake; you will regret your career, and she will be grieving for her downfall. You will be each other's punishment; Elinor will feel intense remorse, knowing what her evil example means to so many, and that her life's work is destroyed. She will become old, worn, and unsatisfied, and you will be disillusioned." "You talk like a seer, Mrs. Gascoigne," he sneered. "I am far-sighted," she admitted quietly. "Don't you know—do you not see that it would be for Elinor's happiness to cast off this hideous life of pretence, and become my second self, my wife, the mistress of my dear old home?" "She would be mad to listen to you," said Angel fiercely; "she will suffer, when you leave; she will mourn as for a death—oh, it will be a hard trial, but it is better to suffer and be strong now, and get it over, than to endure agonies of shame later on, and always. She will never listen to your plan. If she did, I would hold her back by main force; if she went she would have to drag _me_ along with her. I will never let her go." "I always thought you were her friend, and wished for her happiness." "I am her friend—and I do not wish for her disgrace." "Why are you so narrow-minded? Many _divorcés_ are in society; and Elinor is so sweet and so good—her influence will always be felt wherever she goes." "No, not when it is known that she has left her husband—with you. You must practise before you preach; and if I have read Mr. Gordon's character correctly, he will never divorce his wife." "So," after a long pause Lindsay said, "you are not on my side?" "No, nor ever will be—and what a discussion for a dinner-party!" "It was my only opportunity. I asked Du Visne—he's a pal of mine—to send us in together if possible." "If he had known your object, he would have turned you out; now let us talk of anything—or nothing else. Ah! I see people putting on their gloves; thank goodness, we are going at last." * * * * *