"Then accept me."
"Jim," she said earnestly, "you're asking me to decide my whole life. Give me twenty-four hours to think it over."
"Haven't you had sufficient time?"
"To-morrow you shall have your answer."
"Much may happen before to-morrow."
"But you'll grant me this respite. I promise that to-morrow I'll say—yes or no."
"To-morrow I too may be able to speak more clearly; till then, promise me you'll not see this man."
"Can't you trust me, Jim? I trust you, and how little a woman can know of a man's life."
"I don't know," he said, and left her discomfited—praying to Heaven that some power might intervene to reconcile her heart and conscience; for this wild, wayward and desperate woman had a conscience, and so far it had withheld her from committing an unpardonable sin.
After lunch, as fate willed it, the Irish girl and the Dowager were left a moment alone together. Being both inflammable substances, sparks flew, and a conflagration ensued.