e."

Harold Quaritch took a step back and looked at her in horrified
astonishment.

"/What?/" he asked.

"Yes, yes," she answered hastily, putting up her hand as though to
shield herself from a blow. "I know what you mean; but do not think
too hardly of me if you can help it. It was not for myself. I would
rather work for my living with my hands than take a price, for there
is no other word for it. It was for my father, and my family too. I
could not bear to think of the old place going to the hammer, and I
did it all in a minute without consideration; but," and she set her
face, "even as things are, I believe I should do it again, because I
think that no one woman has a right to destroy her family in order to
please herself. If one of the two must go, let it be the woman. But
don't think hardly of me for it," she added almost pleadingly, "that
is if you can help it."

"I am not thinking of you," he answered grimly; "by heaven I honour
you for what you have done, for however much I may disagree with the
act, it is a noble one. I am thinking of the man who could drive such
a bargain with any woman. You say that you have promised to marry him
should he ever be in a position to claim it. What do you mean by that?
As you have told me so much you may as well tell me the rest."

He spoke clearly and with a voice full of authority, but his bearing
did not seem to jar upon Ida.

"I meant," she answered humbly, "that I believe--of course I do not
know if I am right--I believe that Mr. Cossey is in some way entangled
with a lady, in short with Mrs. Quest, and that the question of
whether or no he comes forward again depends upon her."

"Upon my word," said the Colonel, "upon my word the thing gets worse
and worse. I never heard anything like it; and for money too! The
thing is beyond me."

"At any rate," she answered, "there it is. And now, Colonel Quaritch,
one word before I go in. It is difficult for me to speak without
saying too much or too little, but I do want you to understand how
honoured and how grateful I feel for what you have told me to-night--I
am so little worthy of all you have given me, and to be honest, I
cannot feel as pained about it as I ought to feel. It is feminine
vanity, you know, nothing else. I am sure that you will not press me
to say more."

"No," he answered, "no. I think that I understand the position. But,
Ida, there is one thing that I must ask--you will forgive me if I am
wrong in doi