t he was a gambler! Had any of her friends
mentioned such an idea to her a week ago, how she would have rebuked
that friend! But now she added this to her other grievances, and
began to tell herself that she had become engaged to a man whom she
did not know and whom she already doubted.

Then there came a week of very troubled existence,--of existence the
more troubled because she had no one to whom to tell her trouble. As
to putting confidence in her mother,--that idea never occurred to
her. Her mother among her friends was the humblest of all. To tell
her mother that she was going to be married was a matter of course,
but she had never consulted her mother on the subject. And now, at
the end of the week, she had almost resolved to break with the man
without having intimated to any one that such was her intention. And
what excuse had she? There was excuse enough to her own mind, to her
own heart. But what excuse could she give to him or to the world? He
was confident enough,--so confident as to vex her by his confidence.
Though he had come to treat her with indifference, like a plaything,
she was quite sure that he did not dream of having his marriage
broken off. He was secured,--she was sure that this was his
feeling,--by her love, by her ambition, by his position in the world.
He could make her Lady Geraldine! Was it to be supposed that she
should not wish to be Lady Geraldine? He could take what liberties he
pleased without any danger of losing her! It was her conviction that
such was the condition of his mind that operated the strongest in
bringing her to her resolution.

But she must tell some one. She must have a confidante. "Maude," she
said one day, "I have made up my mind not to marry your uncle."

"Cecilia!"

"I have. No one as yet has been told, but I have resolved. Should I
see him to-morrow, or next day, or the next, I shall tell him."

"You are not in earnest?"

"Is it likely that I should jest on such a subject;--or that if I had
a mind to do so I should tell you? You must keep my secret. You must
not tell your uncle. It must come to him from myself. At the present
moment he does not in the least know me,--but he will."

"And why? Why is there to be this break;--why to be these broken
promises?"

"I put it to yourself whether you do not know the why. How often have
you made excuses for him? Why have the excuses been necessary? I am
prepared to bear all the blame. I must bear it. But I am not pr