Nothing could be plainer, simpler, honester, or stronger, than the way the little woman wrote her mind to the great man.

Had he been worthy of her, he might even yet, with her help, have got above his passion in a grand way, and been a great man indeed.

But, as so many do, he only sat upon himself, kept himself down, and sank far below his passion.
When he went to his study the day after his return, he saw the letter.
His heart leaped like a wild thing in a trap at sight of the ill-shaped, childish writing; but--will my lady reader believe it ?--the first thought that shot through it was--"She shall find it too late! I am not one to be left and taken at will!" When he read it, however, it was with a curling lip of scorn at the childishness of the creature to whom he had offered the heart of Godfrey Wardour.

Instead of admiring the lovely devotion of the girl-widow to her boy-husband, he scorned himself for having dreamed of a creature who could not only love a fool like Tom Helmer, but go on loving him after he was dead, and that even when Godfrey Wardour had condescended to let her know he loved her.

It was thus the devil befooled him.