"Farewell, Mrs. Hammond," said Sir Laurence, as he took his hat, and turned towards the door; "you and I are not likely to meet again. I hope the remembrance of this interview will induce you to consider whether it might not be better for you to endeavour to imitate the woman whom you have not only injured, but vainly endeavoured to traduce."
"Curse her!" hissed Laura, in a tone that was no more like a woman's than were her words. "Let her look to it! I will punish you, Laurence Alsager, through her."
"No, you won't," he said; "for the first move you make in that direction, I will write to Mitford (I shall never be without information), and inform him that you did me the honour to propose to break with him in my favour."
"He would not believe you," she said, in a voice hardly audible from the intensity of her passion.
"O yes, he would; Mitford is not a fool on every point; and rumour says he's jealous, which is likely to quicken his intellects. At all events, I advise you to let Lady Mitford alone."
"Let her look to it," said Laura; "I owe this to her, and I will pay it."
He smiled, bowed, and left the room. She started from her chair, and listened, with her hands clasped upon her temples, till she heard the half-door shut; then she knew that he was gone--then she knew that her bold game was lost--and she felt that she should never see him more, who was the only man she had ever loved, even after her own cold and shallow fashion. She gave way to no passion now; she smoothed her hair, glanced at the glass, and rang the bell. When it was answered, she directed that Mademoiselle Marcelline should be sent to her.
Demure, quiet, and respectful as ever, Mademoiselle Marcelline entered the room.
"Marcelline," said Laura (she addressed her maid by her name now), "I am going to my room. Come to me in half an hour; I want to talk to you about something."
"A letter came for madame this evening," said mademoiselle; "but I took it from the valet de chamber, as I thought madame did not care to be disturbed."