Douglas Dale is a fool, and will always remain so. Madame Durski has completely captivated him, and I am perfectly certain he would marry her to-morrow, if she could be brought to consent."

"A striking proof that Mr. Douglas Dale deserves the character you have given him, you would say, Mr. Carrington?"

"Madam, I am at the mercy of your perspicuity," said Victor, with a mock bow; "however, a truce to badinage--Douglas Dale is a rich man, and very much in love with Madame Durski; but he is the last man in the world to interfere with his cousin, by trying to win her affections, if he believes her attached to Sir Reginald. He is a fool in some things, as I have said before, and he is much more likely, if he thinks it a case of mutual desperation, to contribute a thousand a year or so to set the couple up in a modest competence, like a princely proprietor in a play, than to advance his own claims. Now, this modest competence business would not suit Sir Reginald, or Madame Durski, or me, but the other arrangement would be a capital thing for us all."

"H--m, you see she really loves your friend, Sir Reginald," said Miss Brewer.

"Tush," ejaculated Victor Carrington, contemptuously; "of course I know she does, but what does it matter? She would be the most wretched of women if Reginald married her, and _he won't_,--after all, that's the great point, he won't. Now Dale will, and will give her unlimited control of his money--a very nice position, _not_ so elevated as to ensure an undesirable raking-up of her antecedents, and the means of proving her gratitude to you, by providing for you comfortably for life."

"That is all possible," replied Miss Brewer, as calmly as before; "but what am I to do towards bringing about so desirable a state of affairs."

"You have to use the influence which your position _aupres de_ Madame Durski gives you. You can keep her situation constantly before her, you can perpetually harp upon its exigencies--they are pressing, are they not? Yes--then make them more pressing. Expose her to the constant worry and annoyance of poverty, make no effort to hide the inconvenience of ruin. She is a bad manager, of course--all women of her sort are bad managers. Don't help her--make the very worst of everything. Then, you can take every opportunity of pointing out Reginald's neglect, all his defalcations, the cruelty of his conduct to her, the evidence of his never intending to marry her, the selfishness which makes him indifferent to her troubles, and unwilling to help her.

Work on pride, on pique, on jealousy, on the love of comfort and luxury, and the horror of poverty and privation, which are always powerful in the minds of women like Madame Durski. Don't talk much to her at first about Douglas Dale, especially until he has come to town and has resumed his visiting here; but take care that her difficulties press heavily upon her, and that she is kept in mind that help or hope from Reginald there is none. I have no doubt whatever that Dale will propose to her, if he does not see her infatuation for Reginald."

"But suppose Mr. Dale does not come here at all?" asked Miss Brewer; "he has broken through the habit now, and he may have thought it over, and determined to keep away."

"Suppose a moth flies away from a candle, Miss Brewer," returned Carrington, "and makes a refreshing excursion out of window into the cool evening air! May we not calculate with tolerable certainty on his return, and his incremation? The last thing in all this matter I should think of doubting would be the readiness of Douglas Dale to tumble head-foremost into any net we please to spread for him."

A short pause ensued--interrupted by Miss Brewer, who said, "I suppose this must all be done quickly--on account of that wealthy Philistine, the ironmonger?"

"On account of my happening to want money very badly, Miss Brewer, and Madame Durski finding herself in the same position. The more quickly the better for all parties. And now, I have spoken very plainly to you so far, let me speak still more plainly. It is manifestly for your advantage that Madame Durski should be rich and respectable, rather than that she should be poor and--under a cloud. It is no less manifestly, though not so largely, for your advantage, that I should get my money from Reginald Eversleigh, because, when I do, get it, I will hand you five hundred pounds by way of bonus."

"If there were any means by which you could be legally bound to the fulfilment of that promise, Mr. Carrington," said Miss Brewer, "I should request you to put it in writing. But I am quite aware that no such means exist. I accept it, therefore, with moderate confidence, and will adopt the course you have sketched, not because I look for the punctual payment of the money, but because Paulina's good fortune, if secured, will secure mine. But I must add," and here Miss Brewer sat upright in her chair, and a faint colour came into her sallow cheek, "I should not have anything to do with your plots and plans, if I did not believe, and see, that this one is for Paulina's real good."

Victor Carrington smiled, as he thought, "Here is a rare sample of human nature. Here is this woman, quite pleased with herself, and positively looking almost dignified, because she has succeeded in persuading herself that she is actuated by a good motive."

The conversation between Miss Brewer and Victor Carrington lasted for some time longer, and then he was left alone, while Miss Brewer went to attend the _levee_ of Madame Durski. As he paced the room, Carrington smiled again, and muttered, "If Dale were only here, and she could be persuaded to borrow money of him, all would be right. So far, all is going well, and I have taken the right course. My motto is the motto of Danton--'_De l'audace, de l'audace, et toujours de l'audace_.'"

Victor Carrington dined with Madame Durski and her companion. The meal was served with elegance, but the stamp of poverty was too plainly impressed upon all things at Hilton House. The dinner served with such ceremony was but a scanty banquet--the wines were poor--and Victor perceived that, in place of the old silver which he had seen on a previous occasion, Madame Durski's table was furnished with the most worthless plated ware.

Paulina herself looked pale and haggard. She had the weary air of a woman who finds life a burden almost too heavy for endurance.

"I have consented to see you this evening, Mr. Carrington, in accordance with your very pressing message," she said, when she found herself alone in the drawing-room with Victor Carrington after dinner, Miss Brewer having discreetly retired; "but I cannot imagine what business you can have with me."

"Do not question my motives too closely, Madame Durski," said Victor; "there are some secrets lying deep at the root of every man's existence. Believe me, when I assure you that I take a real interest in your welfare, and that I came here to-night in the hope of serving you.

Will you permit me to speak as a friend?"

"I have so few friends that I should be the last to reject any honest offer of friendship," answered Paulina, with a sigh. "And you are the friend of Reginald Eversleigh. That fact alone gives you some claim to my regard."

The widow had admitted Victor Carrington to a more intimate acquaintance than the rest of her visitors; and it was fully understood between them that he knew of the attachment between herself and Sir Reginald.

"Sir Reginald Eversleigh is my friend," replied Victor; "but do not think me treacherous, Madame Durski, when I tell you he is not worthy of your regard. Were he here at this moment, I would say the same. He is utterly selfish--it is of his own interest alone that he thinks; and were the chance of a wealthy marriage to offer itself, I firmly believe that he would seize it--ay! even if by doing so he knew that he was to break your heart. I think you know that I am speaking the truth, Madame Durski?"

"I do," answered Paulina, in a dull, half despairing tone. "Heaven help me! I know that it is the truth. I have long known as much. We women are capable of supreme folly. My folly is my regard for your friend Reginald Eversleigh."

"Let your pride work the cure of that wasted devotion, madame," said Victor, earnestly. "Do not submit any longer to be the dupe, the tool, of this man. Do you know how dearly your self-sacrifice has cost you? I am sure you do not. You do not know that this house is beginning to be talked about as a place to be shunned. You have observed, perhaps, that you have had few visitors of late. Day by day your visitors will grow fewer. This house is marked. It is talked of at the clubs; and Reginald Eversleigh will no longer be able to live upon the spoils won from his dupes and victims. The game is up, Madame Durski; and now that you can no longer be useful to Reginald Eversleigh, you will see how much his love is worth."

"I believe he loves me," murmured Paulina, "after his own fashion."

"Yes, madame, after his own fashion, which is, at the best, a strange one. May I ask how you spent your Christmas?"

"I was very lonely; this house seemed horribly cold and desolate. No one came near me. There were no congratulations; no Christmas gifts.

Ah! Mr. Carrington, it is a sad thing to be quite alone in the world."

"And Reginald Eversleigh--the man whom you love--he who should have been at your side, was at Hallgrove Rectory, among a circle of visitors, flirting with the most notorious of coquettes--Miss Graham, an old friend of his boyish days."

Victor looked at Paulina's face, and saw the random shot had gone home.

She grew even paler than she had been before, and there was a nervous working of the lips that betrayed her agitation.

"Were there ladies amongst the guests at Hallgrove?" he asked.

"Yes, Madame Durski, there were ladies. Did you not know that it was to be so?"

"No," replied Paulina. "Sir Reginald told me it was to be a bachelors'

party."

Victor saw that this petty deception on the part of her lover stung Paulina keenly.

She had been deeply wounded by Reginald's cold and selfish policy; but until this moment she had never felt the pangs of jealousy.

"So he was flirting with one of your fashionable English coquettes, while I was lonely and friendless in a strange country," she exclaimed.

And then, after a brief pause, she added, passionately, "You are right, Mr. Carrington; your friend is unworthy of one thought from me, and I will think of him no more."

"You will do wisely, and you will receive the proof of what I say ere long from the lips of Reginald Eversleigh himself. Tell me the truth dear madame, are not your pecuniary difficulties becoming daily more pressing?"

"They have become so pressing," answered Paulina, "that, unless Reginald lends me money almost immediately, I shall be compelled to fly from this country in secret, like a felon, leaving all my poor possessions behind me. Already I have parted with my plate, as you no doubt have perceived. My only hope is in Reginald."

"A broken reed on which to rely, madame. Sir Reginald Eversleigh will not lend you money. Since this house has become a place of evil odour, to be avoided by men who have money to lose, you are no longer of any use to Sir Reginald. He will not lend you money. On the contrary he will urge your immediate flight from England; and when you have gone--"

"What then?"

"There will be an obstacle removed from his pathway; and when the chance of a rich marriage arises, he will be free to grasp it."

"Oh, what utter baseness!" murmured Paulina; "what unspeakable infamy!"

"A selfish man can be very base, very infamous," replied Victor. "But do not let us speak further of this subject, dear Madame Durski. I have spoken with cruel truth; but my work has been that of the surgeon, who uses his knife freely in order to cut away the morbid spot which is poisoning the very life-blood of the sufferer. I have shown you the disease, the fatal passion, the wasted devotion, to which you are sacrificing your life; my next duty is to show you where your cure lies."

"You may be a very clever surgeon," replied Paulina, scornfully; "but in this case your skill is unavailing. For me there is no remedy."

"Nay, madame, that is the despairing cry of a romantic girl, and is unworthy the lips of an accomplished woman of the world. You complained just now of your loneliness. You said that it was very sad to be without a friend. How if I can show you that you possess one attached and devoted friend, who would be as willing to sacrifice himself for your interests as you have been willing to devote yourself to Reginald Eversleigh?"

"Who is that friend?"

"Douglas Dale."

"Douglas Dale!" exclaimed Paulina. "Yes, I know, that Mr. Dale admires me, and that he is a good and honourable man; but can I take advantage of his admiration? Can I trade upon his love? I--who have no heart to give, no affection to offer in return for the honest devotion of a good man? Do not ask me to stoop to such baseness--such degradation."