“When Miss Pocklington comes in, you will tell her how sorry I was not to see her?”
“Certainly.”
“And that I look forward to Tuesday?”
“No; I shall say nothing about that. You are not out of the wood yet.”
“Oh yes, I am.”
But Mrs. Pocklington stood firm; and George departed, feeling that the last possibility of mercy for Neaera Witt had vanished. There is a limit to unselfishness; nay, what place is there for pity when public duty and private interest unite in demanding just severity?
CHAPTER XIV.
NEAERA’S LAST CARD.
Neaera Witt had one last card to play. Alas, how great the stake, and how slight the chance! Still she would play it. If it failed, she would only drink a little deeper of humiliation, and be trampled a little more contemptuously under foot. What did that matter?