“You mistake me altogether, Edmund,” she said. “I will not see any one on the sly, as you say; and especially not-- Don’t wound me by suggesting what is impossible. If I had not known that I had no alternative, can you suppose I should have left them at all?” “That’s a different matter; you were obliged to do that; but nobody could prevent you meeting them in the streets, seeing them as they pass, saying ‘How do you do?’ introducing a relation--” She rose up, and began to pace about the room in great agitation. “Don’t say any more, don’t torture me like this,” she said. “Can you not understand how you are tearing me to pieces? If I were to do what you say, I should be dishonest, false both to the living and the dead. And it would be better to be at the end of the world than to be near them in a continual fever, watching, scheming, for a word. Oh, no! no!” she said, wringing her hands, “do not let me be tempted beyond my strength. Edmund, for my sake, if for no other, let us go away.” He looked at her with a sort of cynical observation, as she walked up and down the room with hurried steps at first, then calming gradually. He repeated slowly, with a half laugh, “For your sake? But I thought everything now was to be for my sake. And it is my turn; you can’t deny that.” Mrs. Trevanion gave him a piteous look. It was true that it was his turn; and it was true that she had said all should be for him in her changed life. He had her at an advantage; a fact which to her finer nature seemed the strongest reason for generous treatment, but not to his. “It is all very well to speak,” he continued; “but if you really mean well by me, introduce me to Rosalind. That would be the making of me. She is a fine girl, and she has money; and she would be just as pleased--” She stopped him, after various efforts, almost by force, seizing his arm. “There are some things,” she said, “that I cannot bear. This is one of them. I will not have her name brought in--not even her name--” “Why not? What’s in her name more than another? A rose, don’t you know, by any other name--” he said, with a forced laugh. But he was alarmed by Mrs. Trevanion’s look, and the clutch which in her passion she had taken of his arm. After all, his new life was dependent upon her, and it might be expedient not to go too far. This interlude left her trembling and full of agitation. She did not sleep all night, but moved about the room, in her dingy London lodging, scarcely able to keep still. A panic had seized hold upon her. She sent for him in the morning as soon as he had left his room, which was not early; and even he observed the havoc made in her already worn face by the night. She told him that she had resolved to start next day. “I did not perceive,” she said, “all the dangers of staying, till you pointed them out to me. If I am to be honest, if I am to keep any one’s esteem, I must go away.”