It really was so.

Without scruple--without apology--without much apparent diffidence, Mr.Elton, the lover of Harriet, was professing himself _her_ lover.

She tried to stop him; but vainly; he would go on, and say it all.

Angry as she was, the thought of the moment made her resolve to restrain herself when she did speak.

She felt that half this folly must be drunkenness, and therefore could hope that it might belong only to the passing hour.