The New Magdalen

"You don't like her?" cried Lady Janet, with a sudden burst of angry

surprise.

Julian broke out, on his side: "If I see any more of her," he answered,

the rare color mounting passionately in his cheeks, "I shall be the

unhappiest man living. If I see any more of her, I shall be false to my

old friend, who is to marry her. Keep us apart. If you have any regard

for my peace of mind, keep us apart."

Unutterable amazement expressed itself in his aunt's lifted hands.

Ungovernable curiosity uttered itself in his aunt's next words.

"You don't mean to tell me you are in love with Grace?"

Julian sprung restlessly to his feet, and disturbed the cat at the

fireplace. (The cat left the room.) "I don't know what to tell you," he said; "I can't realize it to myself.

No other woman has ever roused the feeling in me which this woman seems

to have called to life in an instant. In the hope of forgetting her I

broke my engagement here; I purposely seized the opportunity of making

those inquiries abroad. Quite useless. I think of her, morning, noon,

and night. I see her and hear her, at this moment, as plainly as I

see and hear you. She has made _her_self a part of _my_self. I don't

understand my life without her. My power of will seems to be gone. I

said to myself this morning, 'I will write to my aunt; I won't go back

to Mablethorpe House.' Here I am in Mablethorpe House, with a mean

subterfuge to justify me to my own conscience. 'I owe it to my aunt to

call on my aunt.' That is what I said to myself on the way here; and I

was secretly hoping every step of the way that she would come into the

room when I got here. I am hoping it now. And she is engaged to Horace

Holmcroft--to my oldest friend, to my best friend! Am I an infernal

rascal? or am I a weak fool? God knows--I don't. Keep my secret, aunt.

I am heartily ashamed of myself; I used to think I was made of better

stuff than this. Don't say a word to Horace. I must, and will, conquer

it. Let me go."

He snatched up his hat. Lady Janet, rising with the activity of a young

woman, pursued him across the room, and stopped him at the door.

"No," answered the resolute old lady, "I won't let you go. Come back

with me."

As she said those words she noticed with a certain fond pride the

brilliant color mounting in his cheeks--the flashing brightness which

lent an added luster to his eyes. He had never, to her mind, looked so

handsome before. She took his arm, and led him to the chairs which they

had just left. It was shocking, it was wrong (she mentally admitted) to

look on Mercy, under the circumstances, with any other eye than the

eye of a brother or a friend. In a clergyman (perhaps) doubly shocking,

doubly wrong. But, with all her respect for the vested interests

of Horace, Lady Janet could not blame Julian. Worse still, she was

privately conscious that he had, somehow or other, risen, rather than

fallen, in her estimation within the last minute or two. Who could deny

that her adopted daughter was a charming creature? Who could wonder if a

man of refined tastes admired her? Upon the whole, her ladyship humanely

decided that her nephew was rather to be pitied than blamed. What

daughter of Eve (no matter whether she was seventeen or seventy) could

have honestly arrived at any other conclusion? Do what a man may--let

him commit anything he likes, from an error to a crime--so long as there

is a woman at the bottom of it, there is an inexhaustible fund of pardon

for him in every other woman's heart. "Sit down," said Lady Janet,

smiling in spite of herself; "and don't talk in that horrible way again.

A man, Julian--especially a famous man like you--ought to know how to

control himself."