'You harped a good deal upon the Abbey. But I had some right to suppose you liked me for my own sake, and that you would forgive me for a stratagem which was prompted by my love for you. How could I know that you looked upon marriage as a matter of exchange and barter?' 'No,' said Ida, bitterly. 'You are right. You could not know how mean I am. I did not know it myself till now. And now,' she pursued, with flashing eyes, with a look in her splendid face that seemed to blight and wither him, with all her beauty, all her womanhood, up in arms against him, 'and now to punish you for having kept the truth from me, I will tell _you_ the truth--plainly. I have never cared one straw for you. I thought I did while I still believed you Brian Wendover of the Abbey. I was dazzled by your position; I was grateful in advance for all the good things that your wealth was to bring me. I tried to delude myself into the belief that I really loved you; but the voice of my conscience told me that it was not so, that I was, in sober truth, the basest of creatures--a woman who marries for money. And now, standing here before you, I know what a wretch I seem--what a wretch I am.' 'You are my wife,' said Brian, trying to take her hand; 'and we must both make the best of a bad bargain.' 'Your wife?' she echoed, in a mocking voice. 'Yes, my very wife, Ida. The knot that was tied to-day can only be loosened by death--or dishonour.' 'You have married me under a false name.' 'No, I have not. You married Brian Walford Wendover. There is no other man of that name.' 'You have cheated me into a miserable marriage. I will never forgive that cheat. I will never acknowledge you as my husband. I will never bear your name, or be anything to you but a stranger, except that I shall hate you all the days of my life. That will be the only bond between us,' she added, with a bitter laugh. 'Come, Ida,' said Brian, soothingly, feeling himself quite able to face the situation now the first shock was over, 'I was prepared for you to be disappointed--to be angry, even; but you are carrying matters a little too far. Even your natural disappointment can hardly excuse such language as this. I am the same man I was yesterday morning when I asked you to marry me.' 'No, you are not. I saw you in a false light--glorified by attributes that never belonged to you.' 'In plain words, you thought me the owner of a big house and a fine income. I am neither; but I am the same Brian Wendover, for all that--a briefless barrister, but with some talent; not without friends; and with as fair a chance of success as most young men of my rank.'