taken the right way at last to produce an impression on her. She really
felt for him. All that was true and tender in her nature began to rise
in her and take his part. Unhappily, he felt too deeply and too strongly
to be patient, and give her time. He completely misinterpreted her
silence--completely mistook the motive that made her turn aside for a
moment, to gather composure enough to speak to him. "Ah!" he burst out
bitterly, turning away on his side, "you have no heart."

She instantly resented those unjust words. At that moment they wounded
her to the quick.

"You know best," she said. "I have no doubt you are right. Remember one
thing, however, that though I have no heart, I have never encouraged
you, Mr. Moody. I have declared over and over again that I could only
be your friend. Understand that for the future, if you please. There are
plenty of nice women who will be glad to marry you, I have no doubt.
You will always have my best wishes for your welfare. Good-morning.
Her Ladyship will wonder what has become of me. Be so kind as to let me
pass."

Tortured by the passion that consumed him, Moody obstinately kept his
place between Isabel and the door. The unworthy suspicion of her, which
had been in his mind all through the interview, now forced its way
outwards to expression at last.

"No woman ever used a man as you use me without some reason for it," he
said. "You have kept your secret wonderfully well--but sooner or later
all secrets get found out. I know what is in your mind as well as you
know it yourself. You are in love with some other man."

Isabel's face flushed deeply; the defensive pride of her sex was up
in arms in an instant. She cast one disdainful look at Moody, without
troubling herself to express her contempt in words. "Stand out of my
way, sir!"--that was all she said to him.

"You are in love with some other man," he reiterated passionately. "Deny
it if you can!"

"Deny it?" she repeated, with flashing eyes. "What right have you to ask
the question? Am I not free to do as I please?"

He stood looking at her, meditating his next words with a sudden and
sinister change to self-restraint. Suppressed rage was in his rigidly
set eyes, suppressed rage was in his trembling hand as he raised it
emphatically while he spoke his next words.

"I have one thing more to say," he answered, "and then I have done. If
I am not your husband, no other man shall be. Look well to it, Isabel
Miller. If