‘And now,’ he went on, ‘I may as well say a word in vindication of my conduct lately, at the risk, too, of offending you. My actual motive in submitting to your order that I should send for my late wife, and live with her, was not the mercenary policy of wishing to retain an office which brings me greater comforts than any I have enjoyed before, but this unquenchable passion for Cytherea. Though I saw the weakness, folly, and even wickedness of it continually, it still forced me to try to continue near her, even as the husband of another woman.’ He waited for her to speak: she did not. ‘There’s a great obstacle to my making any way in winning Miss Graye’s love,’ he went on. ‘Yes, Edward Springrove,’ she said quietly. ‘I know it, I did once want to see them married; they have had a slight quarrel, and it will soon be made up again, unless--’ she spoke as if she had only half attended to Manston’s last statement. ‘He is already engaged to be married to somebody else,’ said the steward. ‘Pooh!’ said she, ‘you mean to his cousin at Peakhill; that’s nothing to help us; he’s now come home to break it off.’ ‘He must not break it off,’ said Manston, firmly and calmly. His tone attracted her, startled her. Recovering herself, she said haughtily, ‘Well, that’s your affair, not mine. Though my wish has been to see her _your_ wife, I can’t do anything dishonourable to bring about such a result.’ ‘But it must be _made_ your affair,’ he said in a hard, steady voice, looking into her eyes, as if he saw there the whole panorama of her past. One of the most difficult things to portray by written words is that peculiar mixture of moods expressed in a woman’s countenance when, after having been sedulously engaged in establishing another’s position, she suddenly suspects him of undermining her own. It was thus that Miss Aldclyffe looked at the steward. ‘You--know--something--of me?’ she faltered. ‘I know all,’ he said. ‘Then curse that wife of yours! She wrote and said she wouldn’t tell you!’ she burst out. ‘Couldn’t she keep her word for a day?’ She reflected and then said, but no more as to a stranger, ‘I will not yield. I have committed no crime. I yielded to her threats in a moment of weakness, though I felt inclined to defy her at the time: it was chiefly because I was mystified as to how she got to know of it. Pooh! I will put up with threats no more. O, can _you_ threaten me?’ she added softly, as if she had for the moment forgotten to whom she had been speaking. ‘My love must be made your affair,’ he repeated, without taking his eyes from her. An agony, which was not the agony of being discovered in a secret, obstructed her utterance for a time. ‘How can you turn upon me so when I schemed to get you here--schemed that you might win her till I found you were married. O, how can you! O!... O!’ She wept; and the weeping of such a nature was as harrowing as the weeping of a man.