‘I could have borne it better but for this new pain. I don’t think I should ever have shown it; even you wouldn’t have known all I felt, Letty. I should have hoped for him--I don’t mean hoped on my own account, but that he might know how wicked he had been. How--how can a man do things so unworthy of himself, when it’s so beautiful to be good and faithful? I think he did care a little for me once, Letty.’ ‘Don’t let us talk of him, pet.’ ‘You are right; we mustn’t. His name ought never to pass my lips, only in my prayers.’ She grew calmer, and they sat hand in hand. ‘Try to make your mother understand,’ advised Letty. ‘Say that it is impossible you should ever accept him.’ ‘She won’t believe that, I’m sure she won’t. And to think that, even if I did it only to please her, people would believe I had married him because he is rich!’ Letty spoke with more emphasis than hitherto. ‘But you cannot and must not do such a thing to please any one, Adela! It is wrong even to think of it. Nothing, nothing can justify that.’ How strong she was in the purity of her own love, good little Letty! So they talked together, and mingled their tears, and the room was made a sacred place as by the presence of sorrowing angels. CHAPTER XII The New Wanley Lecture Hall had been publicly dedicated to the service of the New Wanley Commonwealth, and only in one respect did the day’s proceedings fall short of Mutimer’s expectations. He had hoped to have all the Waltham family at his luncheon party, but in the event Alfred alone felt himself able to accept the invitation. Mutimer had even nourished the hope that something might happen before that day to allow of Adela’s appearing not merely in the character of a guest, but, as it were, _ex officio_. By this time he had resolutely forbidden his eyes to stray to the right hand or the left, and kept them directed with hungry, relentless steadiness straight along the path of his desires. He had received no second letter from his mother, nor had Alice anything to report of danger-signals at home; from Emma herself came a letter regularly once a week, a letter of perfect patience, chiefly concerned with her sister’s health. He had made up his mind to declare nothing till the irretrievable step was taken, when reproaches only could befall him; to Alice as little as to any one else had he breathed of his purposes. And he could no longer even take into account the uncertainty of his success; to doubt of that would have been insufferable at the point which he had reached in self-abandonment. Yet day after day saw the postponement of the question which would decide his fate. Between him and Mrs. Waltham the language of allusion was at length put aside; he spoke plainly of his wishes, and sought her encouragement. This was not wanting, but the mother begged for time. Let the day of the ceremony come and go.