"There is nothing, then, between you? And you would put her against me,--some woman who has nothing to suffer, no cause of complaint, who, for aught you know, cares nothing for you. Is that so?" "I suppose it is," said Paul. "Then you may still be mine. Oh, Paul, come back to me. Will any woman love you as I do;--live for you as I do? Think what I have done in coming here, where I have no friend,--not a single friend,--unless you are a friend. Listen to me. I have told the woman here that I am engaged to marry you." "You have told the woman of the house?" "Certainly I have. Was I not justified? Were you not engaged to me? Am I to have you to visit me here, and to risk her insults, perhaps to be told to take myself off and to find accommodation elsewhere, because I am too mealy-mouthed to tell the truth as to the cause of my being here? I am here because you have promised to make me your wife, and, as far as I am concerned, I am not ashamed to have the fact advertised in every newspaper in the town. I told her that I was the promised wife of one Paul Montague, who was joined with Mr. Melmotte in managing the new great American railway, and that Mr. Paul Montague would be with me this morning. She was too far-seeing to doubt me, but had she doubted, I could have shown her your letters. Now go and tell her that what I have said is false,--if you dare." The woman was not there, and it did not seem to be his immediate duty to leave the room in order that he might denounce a lady whom he certainly had ill-used. The position was one which required thought. After a while he took up his hat to go. "Do you mean to tell her that my statement is untrue?" "No,--" he said; "not to-day." "And you will come back to me?" "Yes;--I will come back." "I have no friend here, but you, Paul. Remember that. Remember all your promises. Remember all our love,--and be good to me." Then she let him go without another word. CHAPTER XXVII. MRS. HURTLE GOES TO THE PLAY. On the day after the visit just recorded, Paul Montague received the following letter from Mrs. Hurtle:-- MY DEAR PAUL,-- I think that perhaps we hardly made ourselves understood to each other yesterday, and I am sure that you do not understand how absolutely my whole life is now at stake. I need only refer you to our journey from San Francisco to London to make you conscious that I really love you. To a woman such love is all important. She cannot throw it from her as a man may do amidst the affairs of the world. Nor, if it has to be thrown from her, can she bear the loss as a man bears it. Her thoughts have dwelt on it with more constancy than his;--and then too her devotion has separated her from other things. My devotion to you has separated me from everything.