Too restless to remain quiet, she tossed her book aside and wandered
from side to side of the room, halting frequently to hearken for
Mrs. Sutton's return, or some noise from the conference chamber that
might alleviate her suspense.

"I tried to put her on her guard," she broke forth at length, bent,
it would seem, upon self-justification against an invisible accuser.
"I saw aversion in Winston's eye the day he came home to find the
other here. He would never forgive his slave the presumption of
choosing a husband for herself. Did I not tell her so? Yet this has
caught her like a rabbit in a trap--unprepared for endurance or
resistance. The spiritless baby! Would I give him up, except with
life, if he loved me as he does her?"

It was not a baby's face that was confronting Mrs. Sutton's just
then. It was no weak, spiritless slave who sustained the pelting
shower of her comments, her wonderment and her entreaties that Mabel
would refuse to abide by her brother's decision--her guardian though
he was--and if she would not write to Frederic with her own hand,
empower her aunt to apply to him for an explanation of the
disgraceful mystery.

"We should condemn no man unheard," she argued.

"It is but fair to give him an opportunity of telling his side of
the story."

"Winston's letter will inform him of what and by whom he is
accused," said Mabel. "He will have the opportunity you speak of. I