ship; and if she resolved to be revenged, such
resolution on her part was only natural. When she reached Lady Monk's
house, she had to make her way up stairs all alone. The servants
called her Mrs Marsh, and under that name she got passed on into the
front drawing-room. There she sat down, not having seen Lady Monk,
and meditated over her injuries.

It was past eleven before Lady Glencora arrived, and Burgo Fitzgerald
had begun to think that his evil stars intended that he should never
see her again. He had been wickedly baulked at Monkshade, by what
influence he had never yet ascertained; and now he thought that the
same influence must be at work to keep her again away from his aunt's
house. He had settled in his mind no accurate plan of a campaign; he
had in his thoughts no fixed arrangement by which he might do the
thing which he meditated. He had attempted to make some such plan;
but, as is the case with all men to whom thinking is an unusual
operation, concluded at last that he had better leave it to the
course of events. It was, however, obviously necessary that he should
see Lady Glencora before the course of events could be made to do
anything for him. He had written to her, making his proposition in
bold terms, and he felt that if she were utterly decided against him,
her anger at his suggestion, or at least her refusal, would have
been made known to him in some way. Silence did not absolutely give
consent, but it seemed to show that consent was not impossible. From
ten o'clock to past eleven he stood about on the staircase of his
aunt's house, waiting for the name which he was desirous of hearing,
and which he almost feared to hear. Men spoke to him, and women also,
but he hardly answered. His aunt once called him into her room, and
with a cautionary frown on her brow, bade him go dance. "Don't look
so dreadfully preoccupied," she said to him in a whisper. But he
shook his head at her, almost savagely, and went away, and did not
dance. Dance! How was he to dance with such an enterprise as that
upon his mind? Even to Burgo Fitzgerald the task of running away with
another man's wife had in it something which prevented dancing. Lady
Monk was older, and was able to regulate her feelings with more
exactness. But Burgo, though he could not dance, went down into the
dining-room and drank. He took a large beer-glass full of champagne
and soon after that another. The drink did not flush his cheeks or
make his forehead