their impulsion was a cause which threatened to exert a common
effect, inasmuch as they urged her to leave Windebank.

This sentiment was strengthened by the reflection that she was
unworthy of his regard. She had, of set purpose, lied to him, denied
that she was the friend of his early youth. True, he had previously
insulted her, but, considering the circumstances, he had every
excuse for his behaviour. He certainly led a fast life, but, if
anything, Mavis the more admired him for this symptom of virility;
she also dimly believed that such conduct qualified him to win a
wife who, in every respect, was above reproach. She was poor and
friendless, she again reflected. Above all, she had lied to him. She
was hopelessly unworthy of one who, in obedience to the sentimental
whim she had inspired, seemed contemptuous of his future. She would
be worse than she already was, if she countenanced a course of
action full of such baleful possibilities for himself. Almost before
she knew what she was doing, she kissed him lightly on the cheek,
and snatched the violets he was wearing in his coat, before slipping
away, to lose herself in the fog.




CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A GOOD SAMARITAN


Mavis heard him calling her name, first one way, then another; once,
he approached and came quite near her, but he changed his direction,