ed nothing of this, even to herself, till he
had spoken to her on the bridge; but then, in a moment, she had known
that it was so, and had not coyed the truth with him by a single nay.
And now they told her that he was bad.

Bad as he was, he had been good enough to win her. 'Twas thus she
argued with herself. Who was she that she should claim for herself
the right of having a man that was not bad? That other man that had
come to her, that Lord Alfred, was, she was told, good at all points;
and he had not moved her in the least. His voice had possessed no
music for her; and as for fetching his slippers for him,--he was to
her one of those men who seem to be created just that they might
be civil when wanted and then get out of the way! She had not been
able for a moment to bring herself to think of regarding him as her
husband. But this man, this bad man! From the moment that he had
spoken to her on the bridge, she knew that she was his for ever.

It might be that she liked a bad man best. So she argued with herself
again. If it were so she must put up with what misfortune her own
taste might bring upon her. At any rate the thing was done, and why
should any man be thrown over simply because the world called him
bad? Was there to be no forgiveness for wrongs done between man and
man, when the whole theory of our religion was made to depend on
forgiveness from God to man? It is the duty of some one to reclaim an
evident prodigal; and why should it not be her duty to reclaim this
prodigal? Clearly, the very fact that she loved the prodigal would
give her a potentiality that way which she would have with no other
prodigal. It was at any rate her duty to try. It would at least be
her duty if they would allow her to be near enough to him to make
the attempt. Then she filled her mind with ideas of a long period
of probation, in which every best energy of her existence should
be given to this work of reclaiming the prodigal, so that at last
she might put her own hand into one that should be clean enough
to receive it. With such a task before her she could wait. She
could watch him and give all her heart to his welfare, and never be
impatient except that he might be made happy. As she thought of this,
she told herself plainly that the work would not be easy, that there
would be disappointment, almost heart-break, delays and sorrows; but
she loved him, and it would be her duty; and then, if she could be
successful, how great, h