“Are you going to open it?” she said, hardly able to contain herself. “No.” He had not raised his voice; but it struck her that he was in a rage. His friendly look and quiet attitude first reassured, then, on second thoughts, exasperated her. “Why wont you?” “I really dont know. Somehow, I am not curious. It interests you. Pray open it.” “I will die first. If it lie there until I open it, it will lie there forever.” He opened the envelope neatly with a paper cutter, and handed her the enclosure. She kept down her hands stubbornly. He smiled a little, still presenting it. At last she snatched it, much as she would have liked to snatch a handful of his hair. Having read it, she turned pale, and looked as she had used to in her childhood, when in disgrace and resolute not to cry. “I had rather have had my two hands cut off,” she said passionately, after a pause. “It is very sad for you,” said Conolly, sympathetically. “He is an educated man; but I cannot think that he has much in him.” “He is a selfish, lying, conceited hound. Educated, indeed! And what are _you_ going to do, may I ask?” “Eat my supper. I am as hungry as a bear.” “Yes, you had better, I think. Good-evening.” He seemed to know that she would not leave; for he made no movement to open the door for her. On her way out, she turned, and so came at him with her fists clenched, that for a moment he was doubtful whether she would not bodily assault him. “Are you a brute, or a fool, or both?” she said, letting her temper loose. “How long do you intend to stand there, doing nothing?” “What _can_ I do, Miss McQuinch?” he said, gently. “You can follow her and bring her back before she has made an utter idiot of herself with that miserable blackguard. Are you afraid of him? If you are, I will go with you, and not let him touch you.” “Thank you,” he said, good-humoredly. “But you see she does not wish to live with me.” “Good God, man, what woman do you think _could_ wish to live with you! I suppose Marian wanted a human being to live with, and not a calculating machine. You would drive any woman away. If you had feeling enough to have kicked him out of the house, and then beaten her black and blue for encouraging him, you would have been more of a man than you are: she would have loved you more. You are not a man: you are a stone full of brains—such as they are! Listen to me, Mr. Conolly. There is one chance left—if you will only make haste. Go after them; overtake them; thrash him within an inch of his life; and bring her back and punish her how you please so long as you shew her that you care. You can do it if you will only make up your mind: he is a coward; and he is afraid of you: I have seen it in his eye. You are worth fifty of him—if you would only not be so cold blooded—if you will only go—_dear_ Mr. Conolly—youre not really insensible—you will, wont you?”