reason for that
backwardness regarding the courtship of Cytherea, which, they tell
me, has been the talk of the village; not your indifference to her
attractions.' Her voice had a tone of conviction in it, as well as of
inquiry; but none of jealousy.

'Yes,' he said; 'and not a dishonourable one. What held me back was just
that one thing--a sense of morality that perhaps, madam, you did not
give me credit for.' The latter words were spoken with a mien and tone
of pride.

Miss Aldclyffe preserved silence.

'And now,' he went on, 'I may as well say a word in vindication of my
conduct lately, at the risk, too, of offending you. My actual motive in
submitting to your order that I should send for my late wife, and live
with her, was not the mercenary policy of wishing to retain an office
which brings me greater comforts than any I have enjoyed before, but
this unquenchable passion for Cytherea. Though I saw the weakness,
folly, and even wickedness of it continually, it still forced me to try
to continue near her, even as the husband of another woman.'

He waited for her to speak: she did not.

'There's a great obstacle to my making any way in winning Miss Graye's
love,' he went on.

'Yes, Edward Springrove,' she said quietly. 'I know it, I did once want
to see them married; they have had a slight quarrel, and it will soon be
made up again, unless--' she spoke as if she had only half attended to
Manston's last statement.

'He is already engaged to be married to somebody else,' said the
steward.

'Pooh!' said she, 'you mean to his cousin at Peakhill; that's nothing to
help us; he's now come home to break it off.'

'He must not break it off,' said Manston, firmly and calmly.

His tone attracted her, startled her. Recovering herself, she said
haughtily, 'Well, that's your affair, not mine. Though my wish has been
to see her _your_ wife, I can't do anything dishonourable to bring about
such a result.'

'But it must be _made_ your affair,' he said in a hard, steady voice,
looking into her eyes, as if he saw there the whole panorama of her
past.

One of the most difficult things to portray by written words is that
peculiar mixture of moods expressed in a woman's countenance when, after
having been sedulously engaged in establishing another's position, she
suddenly suspects him of undermining her own. It was thus that Miss
Aldclyffe looked at the steward.

'You--know--something--of me?' she faltered.

'I know all