They are not going back to London until to-morrow morning, and dinner has yet to be got through. Oh! I do feel in a temper, and I can never tell of the emotions that were throbbing through me as I came up the great stairs just now. A sudden awakening to the humiliation of the situation! How had I ever been able to contemplate marrying a man I did not know, just to secure myself a comfortable home! It seems preposterous now. I suppose it was because I have always been brought up to the idea, and until I came face to face with the man, it did not strike me as odd. Fortunately he can never guess that I had been willing to accept him--my dissimulation has stood me in good stead. Now I am animated by only one idea! To appear as agreeable and charming to Mr. Carruthers as possible. The aim and object of my life shall be to make him regret his decision. When I hear him imploring me to marry him, I shall regain a little of my self-respect! And as for marriage, I shall have nothing to do with the horrid affair! Oh dear no! I shall go away free, and be a happy adventuress--I have read the “Trois Mousquetaires,” and “Vingt Ans Après”--Mademoiselle had them--and I remember milady had only three days to get round her jailer, starting with his hating her, whereas Mr. Carruthers does not hate me, so that counts against my only having one evening. I shall do my best--! _Thursday night._ I WAS down in the library, innocently reading a book when Mr. Carruthers came in. He looked even better in evening dress, but he appeared ill-tempered, and no doubt found the situation unpleasant. “Is not this a beautiful house?” I said, in a velvet voice, to break the awkward silence, and show him I did not share his unease. “You had not seen it before, for ages, had you?” “Not since I was a boy,” he answered, trying to be polite. “My aunt quarrelled with my father--she was the direct heiress of all this, and married her cousin, my father’s younger brother--but you know the family history, of course----” “Yes.” “They hated one another, she and my father.” “Mrs. Carruthers hated all her relations,” I said demurely. “Myself among them?” “Yes,” I said slowly, and bent forward, so that the lamplight should fall upon my hair. “She said you were too much like herself in character for you ever to be friends.” “Is that a compliment?” he asked, and there was a twinkle in his eye. “We must speak no ill of the dead,” I said, evasively. He looked slightly annoyed, as much as these diplomats ever let themselves look anything. “You are right,” he said. “Let her rest in peace.” There was silence for a moment. “What are you going to do with your life now?” he asked, presently. It was a bald question. “I shall become an adventuress,” I answered deliberately. “A _what_?” he exclaimed, his black eyebrows contracting. “An adventuress. Is not that what it is called? A person who sees life, and has to do the best she can for herself.”