other affections and interests in life, and great as the shock had been
and the succeeding anger, she had recovered her self-possession, and had
set herself to banish Fan from her remembrance. She was ashamed to let
her servants and friends see how deeply she had been wounded by the
little starving wretch she had compassionately rescued from the streets.
Outwardly she did not appear much affected; and when Rosie, with well-
feigned surprise, asked if the police were not to be employed to trace
the stolen articles and arrest the thief, she only laughed carelessly and
replied: "No; she has punished herself enough already, and the trinkets
have no doubt been sold before now, and could not be traced."

Rosie hurried away to hide the relief she felt, for she had been
trembling to think what might happen if some cunning detective were to be
employed to make investigations in the house.

Now, however, when Mary began to recover from the amazement caused by
Fan's narrative, a dull rage took such complete possession of her that it
left no room for any other feeling. The girl sitting there with bent head
seemed no more to her than some stranger who had just come in, and about
whom she knew and cared nothing. All that Fan had suffered was forgotten:
she only thought of herself, of the outrage on her feelings, of the vile
treachery of the man who had pretended to love her, whom she had loved
and had treated so kindly, helping him with money and in other ways, and
forgiving him again and again when he had offended her. She could not
rest or sit still when she thought of it, and she thought of it
continually and of nothing else. She rose and paced the room, pausing at
every step, and turning herself from side to side, like some savage
animal, strong and lithe and full of deadly rage, but unable to spring,
trapped and shut within iron bars. Her face had changed to a livid white,
and looked hard and pitiless, and her eyes had a fixed stony stare like