"I daresay not," she answered coolly; "but I do." The pretty air of command was entirely lost on Alsager. She saw that it was, and ground her teeth,--a pleasant symptom of passion which she never could suppress. "By the time we met again," she continued, "I was sick and weary--not only of the price I had to pay for the wealth I had bought, but of the wealth itself. Of course I never changed my opinion of the value of money. I don't mean that; but I did not get as much out of the wealth I had purchased as I might have done. I was very much admired, and quite the fashion, but somehow I tired of it all; and then--then, Laurence, I found out why. I found out that I really had more heart than I believed, and that it was in your keeping." "Pshaw!" he said, angrily and impatiently; "pray don't talk like this. You are drawing on your imagination very largely, and also on my vanity. The latter is quite useless, I assure you." "Think what you like, say what you will,--I loved you. I knew it by the listlessness that was always upon me; I knew it better by the disappearance of that listlessness when they said you were coming home; and I knew it best of all when--when do you think, Sir Laurence Alsager?" "I really could not presume to guess when you made such a discovery, Mrs. Hammond." "Indeed! I will tell you, then. I learned it best of all when the first pang of jealousy I had ever felt in my life seized me. I had often heard your name coupled with that of some woman of fashion. I had heard a multitude of speculations about your affairs of the heart; but I never feared them--I never believed in them; I never knew that I had so vital an interest in them until your own look, your own manner, your own indecision of purpose about the visit to Redmoor, betrayed you to me, and told me who was my rival." "Your rival!" said Sir Laurence in astonishment. "Surely you did not suppose I had returned to England to be caught again in _your_ toils?" "I don't know what I thought; I don't care. I only know that when you and I parted, you loved me, and were angry with me,--it was passionate love and passionate anger,--and that when you and I met, not only had you ceased to be angry, but you were rapidly succumbing to the influence of another woman--a woman utterly different from me! Not more beautiful,--I deny _that_; she has not the art of being beautiful; she has only the material. A woman whom I hate; whom I should have hated and would have injured, I believe, if you had never seen her. Yes; and you actually dared to menace me on her account; you presumed to pit yourself against me as her champion. You forgot that such championship hardly serves its object, in the eyes of the world." Sir Laurence uttered an exclamation of disgust; and was about to rise, when she stepped forward close to him, and laid her hands lightly upon his breast for an instant.