‘It is like you to play the spy! It is just what I should have expected! Well, I hope you are satisfied. I love Mr. Bradley; I have loved him since the day we first met. Will you go now?’
George Craik seized his hat and stick, and crossed to the door, where he turned.
‘I will take care all the world knows of your shameless conduct!’ he cried. ‘You have brought disgrace upon us all. As for this man, he shall be exposed; he shall, by—! He is a scoundrel not lit to live!’
Without replying, Alma pointed to the door; and, after one last look of concentrated rage, George Craik rushed from the house. She heard the outer door close behind him, but still stood like marble, holding her hand upon her heart. Then, with a low cry, she sank shuddering into a chair, and covered her face with her hands.
The scene which we have described had tortured her delicate spirit more than she at first knew; and her cousin’s bitter taunts and reproaches, though they missed their mark at first, had struck home in the end. She was a woman of infinite sensitiveness, exceeding sweetness of disposition; and she could not bear harsh words, even from one she cordially despised. Above all, she shrank, like all good women, even the most intellectual, before the evil judgment of the world. Could it be true, as George Craik had said, that people were connecting her name infamously with that of Bradley? If so, then surely it was time to let all the world know her happiness.
She drew forth from her bosom a photographic miniature of Bradley, set in a golden locket. For a long time she looked at it intently, through a mist of loving tears. Then she kissed it fondly.
‘He loves me!’ she murmured to herself. ‘I will tell him what they are saying, and then he will know that it is time to throw away all disguise. Ah! how proud I shall be when I can stand by his side, holding his hand, and say “This is my husband!”’