"Leave me to starve," interrupted Stella, hurriedly; "no, I have plenty of money. While--while we were happy Mr. Hamleigh lavished his money upon me--he was always absurdly generous--and if I wanted money now I should have but to hold out my hand. I have never known the want of money since I left my attic--four and sixpence a week, with the use of the kitchen fire, to boil a kettle, or cook a chop--when my resources rose to a chop--it was oftener a bloater. Do you know, the other day, when I was dreadfully ill and they had been worrying me with invalid turtle, jellies, oysters, caviare, all kinds of loathsome daintinesses--and the doctor said I should die if I didn't eat--I thought perhaps I might get back the old appetite for bloater and bread and butter--I used to enjoy a bloater tea so in those old days--but it was no use--the very smell of the thing almost killed me--the whole house was poisoned with it." She prattled on, looking up at Christabel with a confiding smile. The visit had taken quite a pleasant turn. She had no idea that anything serious was to come of it. Her quondam lover's affianced wife had taken it into her head to come and see what kind of stuff Mr. Hamleigh's former idol was made of--that was all--and the lady's amiability was making the interview altogether agreeable. Yet, in another moment, the pain and sorrow in Christabel's face showed her and there was something stronger than frivolous curiosity in the lady's mind. "Pray be serious with me," said Christabel. "Remember that the welfare of three people depends upon my resolution in this matter. It would be easy for me to say--I will shut my eyes to the past: he has told me that he loves me--and I will believe him. But I will not do that. I will not live a life of suspicion and unrest, just for the sweet privilege of bearing him company, and being called by his name--dear as that thought is to me. No, it shall be all or nothing. If I cannot have his whole heart I will have none of it. You confess that you wear his picture next your heart. Do you still love him?" "Yes--always--always--always," answered the actress, fervently. This at least was no bold-faced lie--there was truth's divine accent here. "There is no man like him on this earth." And then in low impassioned tones she quoted those passionate lines of Mrs. Browning's:-- There is no one beside thee, and no one above thee; Thou standest alone as the nightingale sings; And my words, that would praise thee, are impotent things. "And do you believe that he has quite left off loving you?" "No," answered the actress, looking up at her with flashing eyes, "I don't believe it. I don't believe he could after all we have been to each other. It isn't in human nature to forget such love as ours." "And you believe--if he were free--if he had not engaged himself to me--perhaps hardly intending it--he would come back to you?"