"If that was her motive, yes, she was an adventuress; but it scarcely accords with the character of an adventuress that she should be content with making but one appeal to the man upon whose money she had designs." "You have a very positive and decided manner, sir, from which she might naturally infer that further attempts would be useless." "I cannot agree with you. Such a woman as you described would not so easily relinquish her designs. It was all she had to depend upon. Failing success, a life of poverty was before her. She certainly would have tried again." "Surely you would not make me accountable for her actions, sir?" "No; I am simply arguing the question logically--not as regards you, but as regards her. At the time she made her modest appeal my judgment was clouded with passion; it is now clear, and the course I took does not commend itself to me. Her uncle also made an appeal to me--only one. He had fallen into sudden misfortune; on the day before he came to me he had been burned out, and was not insured." "A trumped-up story, I have no doubt, sir." "Not so. A true story, as I saw in the papers afterwards. Neither in his manners was there anything vulgar or objectionable. Although a poor man, he was well educated, and spoke with discretion and intelligence. Had he appealed to me for a large sum of money I might have had reasonable grounds for suspicion; but all he asked for was either five or ten pounds, and that was to send to my son, who was in a state of poverty abroad. I declare," said Mr. Manners, rising, and pacing the room in agitation, "now that I am opening my mind upon these matters, now that I hear myself speaking of them, I cannot justify my conduct. It was monstrous, monstrous. Had I given them a thousand times as much as they asked for I should not have missed it. My heart must have been made of stone!" "Do not distress yourself, sir," said Inglefield, with a fawning attempt at sympathy. "You could not have acted otherwise." "I could. I could have acted both justly and mercifully, and so have lightened their lot. I drove the uncle away from the house, and he, too, never made another appeal to me. Their conduct from first to last was dignified and independent; mine was dastardly. You see how little disposed I am to spare myself. Let us put an end to this conversation; I am afraid to trust myself further." Mark Inglefield was too discreet to offer any opposition, and too glad to escape to put into operation the plans he had formed. With a gentle "Good-night, sir," he was about to leave the room, when Mr. Manners said: "Do not forget that we have to inquire into the treacherous story related to me by Mr. Parkinson. You will be ready to accompany me at eleven o'clock in the morning." "I shall be quite ready," said Mark Inglefield. And thus the interview terminated. CHAPTER XLI.