She loved him. Full surely did she love him, or such a woman would never
have consented to brave the world; once in their project of flight, and
next, even more endearingly when contemplated, in the sacrifice of her
good name; not omitting that fervent memory of her pained submission,
but a palpitating submission, to his caress. She was in his arms again
at the thought of it. He had melted her, and won the confession of
her senses by a surprise, and he owned that never had woman been so
vigilantly self-guarded or so watchful to keep her lover amused and
aloof. Such a woman deserved long service. But then the long service
deserved its time of harvest. Her surging look of reproach in submission
pointed to the golden time, and as he was a man of honour, pledged to
her for life, he had no remorse, and no scruple in determining to exact
her dated promise, on this occasion deliberately. She was the woman to
be his wife; she was his mind's mate: they had hung apart in deference
to mere scruples too long. During the fierce battle of the Session she
would be his help, his fountain of counsel; and she would be the rosy
gauze-veiled more than cold helper and adviser, the being which
would spur her womanly intelligence to acknowledge, on this occasion
deliberately, the wisdom of the step. They had been so close to it!
She might call it madness then: now it was wisdom. Each had complete
experience of the other, and each vowed the step must be taken. As to
the secret communicated, he exulted in the pardonable cunning of the
impulse turning him back to her house after the guests had gone, and the
dexterous play of his bait on the line, tempting her to guess and quit
her queenly guard. Though it had not been distinctly schemed, the review
of it in that light added to the enjoyment. It had been dimly and richly
conjectured as a hoped result. Small favours from her were really worth,
thrice worth, the utmost from other women. They tasted the sweeter
for the winning of them artfully--an honourable thing in love. Nature,
rewarding the lover's ingenuity and enterprise, inspires him with old
Greek notions of right and wrong: and love is indeed a fluid mercurial
realm, continually shifting the principles of rectitude and larceny.
As long as he means nobly, what is there to condemn him? Not she in her
heart. She was the presiding divinity.

And she, his Tony, that splendid Diana, was the woman the world abused!
Whom will it not abuse?

The