Ireton rushed forward to open the wicket for him. “Indeed,” she said, “it was very fortunate that I should have met you this afternoon. “I admired your sister in Paris,” he answered, “but I do not believe that I regard her now as altogether the same person. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. He depended upon her, for his medicine, for his drink, for the little amusement it was now permissible to give him. “You poor child!” he said; “don’t you see the infinite folly of these proceedings? Think! Think of the love and affection you abandon! Think of your aunt, a second mother to you.
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