it ceased to gall her she was yet sensible of its weight. So long as
she owed him money, so long as he held her written promise to repay
that debt with her hand, so long was she debarred all chances for the
future, so long was she tied down to a fate she could not contemplate
without a shudder. To be a "Mrs. Ryfe" when on the cards lay such a
prize as the Bearwarden coronet, when she need only put out her hand
and take Dick Stanmore, with his brown locks, his broad shoulders, his
genial, generous heart, for better or worse! It was unbearable. And
then to think that she could ever have fancied she liked the man;
that, even now, she had to give him clandestine meetings, to see him
at unseasonable hours, as if she loved him dearly, and was prepared
to make every sacrifice for his sake! Her pride revolted, her whole
spirit rose in arms at the reflection. She knew he cared for her too;
cared for her in his own way very dearly; and "c'est ce que c'est
d'être femme," I fear she hated him all the more! So long as a woman
knows nothing about him, her suspicion that a man likes her is nine
points out of ten in his favour; but directly she has fathomed his
intellect and probed his heart; squeezed the orange, so to speak, and
resolved to throw away the rind, in proportion to the constancy of his
attachment will be her weariness of its duration; and from weariness
in such matters there is but one short step to hatred and disgust.

Tom Ryfe must be paid his money. To this conclusion, at least, Maud's
reflections never failed to lead. Without such initiatory proceeding
it was useless to think of demanding the return of that written
promise. But how to raise the funds? After much wavering and
hesitation, Miss Bruce resolved at last to pawn her diamonds. So
dearly do women love their trinkets, that I believe, though he never
knew it, Tom Ryfe was more than once within an ace of gaining the
prize he longed for, simply from Maud's disinclination to part with