“Kindly follow me,” Isabel said. She led the way along the edge of the bushes and out of sight of the house. Then she again faced him. “It is all grievously irregular,” Lacour pleaded, or rather explained, for the brief walk had helped him to self-command. “I need not say that I was alone in devising the plan. I wanted to speak with Miss Warren, and I knew her habit of sitting alone in the library. The window stood open; I entered.” “May I ask for what purpose you wished to speak with Miss Warren?” “I fear, Mrs. Clarendon, I am not at liberty to answer that question.” “Your behaviour is most extraordinary.” “I know it; it is wholly irregular. I owe you an apology for so entering your house.” “An apology, it seems to me, is rather trivial under the circumstances. I don’t know that I need pick and choose my words with you, Mr. Lacour. Doesn’t it occur to you that, all things considered, you have been behaving in a thoroughly dishonourable way--doing what no gentleman could think of? If I am not mistaken, you were lately in the habit of professing a desire for my good opinion; how do you reconcile that with this utter disregard of my claims to respect?” “Mrs. Clarendon, it is dreadful to hear you speaking to me in this way. You have every right to be angry with me; I reproach myself more than you reproach me. I did not think of you in connection with Miss Warren. I could not distress or injure you wittingly.” “I don’t know that you have it in your power to injure me,” was the cold reply. “I am distressed on your own account, for I fully believed you incapable of dishonour.” “Good God! Do you wish me to throw myself at your feet and pray you to spare me? I cannot bear those words from you; they flay me. Think what you like of me, but don’t say it! You cannot amend me, but you can gash me to the quick, if it delights you to do that. I won’t ask you to pardon me; I am lower than you can stoop. The opinion of other people is nothing to me; I didn’t know till this moment that any one could lash me as you have done.” Isabel was frightened at the violence of his words; they must have calmed a harsher nature than hers. His earnestness was all the more terrible from its contrast with his ordinary habit of speech, and his professed modes of thinking. His voice choked. Perhaps for the first time in her life Isabel recognised the fulness of her power over men. “Mr. Lacour,” she said with grave gentleness, “is this the first of your visits to Miss Warren?” “It is the first.” “Will you promise me that it shall be the last--I mean of secret visits?” “I will never see her again.”