What, oh what, would he do?
Something even more deplorably unworthy of him than what he had done already?
Would he apostatise from the faith?
Would he abandon us at the Mothers'-Small-Clothes?
Had we seen the last of his angelic smile in the committee-room?
Had we heard the last of his unrivalled eloquence at Exeter Hall?
I was so wrought up by the bare idea of such awful eventualities as these in connection with such a man, that I believe I should have rushed from my place of concealment, and implored him in the name of all the Ladies' Committees in London to explain himself--when I suddenly heard another voice in the room.
It penetrated through the curtains; it was loud, it was bold, it was wanting in every female charm.

The voice of Rachel Verinder.
"Why have you come up here, Godfrey ?" she asked.

"Why didn't you go into the library ?" He laughed softly, and answered, "Miss Clack is in the library." "Clack in the library!" She instantly seated herself on the ottoman in the back drawing-room.

"You are quite right, Godfrey.

We had much better stop here." I had been in a burning fever, a moment since, and in some doubt what to do next.