Mary Jones lives in a house no better than this, and Mr.Armand goes to see her." "I don't believe it!" said Emily, with emphasis.
"Just as you like about that.

Seeing is believing, they say, and as I have seen him there, I can do no less than believe he was there." "When did you see him there ?" Emily now asked with eager interest, while her face grew pale.
"I saw him there last evening--and he sat conversing with Mary in a way that showed them to be no strangers to each other." A long, embarrassed, and painful silence followed this announcement.
At last, Emily got up and went off to her chamber, where she threw herself upon her bed and burst into tears.

After these ceased to flow, and her mind had become, in some degree, tranquillized, her thoughts became busy.

She remembered that Mr.Armand had called, while they were hiding away in fear lest it should be known that they were not on a fashionable visit to some watering place--how he had rung and rung repeatedly, as if under the idea that they were there, and how his countenance expressed disappointment as she caught a glimpse of it through the closed shutters.

With all this came, also, the idea that he might have discovered that they were at home, and have despised the principle from which they acted, in thus shutting themselves up, and denying all visiters.