“I'll not listen to you,” he said. “Ye're not just, Hortensia. Ye're heated; heated! I'll not listen to you. Besides, when all is said, what reasons be these for the folly ye've committed?” “Reasons?” she echoed scornfully. “Reasons and to spare! Her ladyship has made my life so hard, has so shamed and crushed me, put such indignities upon me, that existence grew unbearable under your roof. It could not continue, my lord,” she pursued, rising under the sway of her indignation. “It could not continue. I am not of the stuff that goes to making martyrs. I am weak, and--and--as your lordship has said--womanish.” “Indeed, you talk a deal,” said his lordship peevishly. But she did not heed the sarcasm. “Lord Rotherby,” she continued, “offered me the means to escape. He urged me to elope with him. His reason was that you would never consent to our marriage; but that if we took the matter into our hands, and were married first, we might depend upon your sanction afterwards; that you had too great a kindness for me to withhold your pardon. I was weak, my lord--womanish,” (she threw the word at him again) “and it happened--God help me for a fool!--that I thought I loved Lord Rotherby. And so--and so--” She sat down again, weakly, miserably, averting her face that she might hide her tears. He was touched, and he even went so far as to show something of his sympathy. He approached her again, and laid a benign hand lightly upon her shoulder. “But--but--in that case--Oh, the damned villain!--why this mock-parson?” “Does your lordship not perceive? Must I die of shame? Do you not see?” “See? No!” He was thoughtful a second; then repeated, “No!” “I understood,” she informed him, a smile--a cruelly bitter smile--lifting and steadying the corner of her lately quivering lip, “when he alluded to your lordship's straitened circumstances. He has no disinheritance to fear because he has no inheritance to look for beyond the entail, of which you cannot disinherit him. My Lord Rotherby sets a high value upon himself. He may--I do not know--he may have been in love with me--though not as I know love, which is all sacrifice, all self-denial. But by his lights he may have cared for me; he must have done, by his lights. Had I been a lady of fortune, not a doubt but he would have made me his wife; as it was, he must aim at a more profitable marriage, and meanwhile, to gratify his love for me--base as it was--he would--he would--O God! I cannot say it. You understand, my lord.” My lord swore strenuously. “There is a punishment for such a crime as this.” “Ay, my lord--and a way to avoid punishment for a gentleman in your son's position, even did I flaunt my shame in some vain endeavor to have justice--a thing he knew I never could have done.” My lord swore again. “He shall be punished,” he declared emphatically. “No doubt. God will see to that,” she said, a world of faith in her quivering voice.