Yesterday she had been more cynical.

Her own wickedness was teaching her the necessity of some good, and she saw now clearly that Bosio was one degree less base than herself.

She believed that he would now be willing to marry Veronica, but she understood that until now he would not have done it--unless she had freed him from the galling remnant of his own conscience, and had formally given him his liberty.

To give him that, in order that he might save her, she had torn out her heart by the roots.
The bitterest of all was this, that he had scarcely struggled against her will, when she had left him to himself.

He had said a few words, indeed, but he could hardly have said less, if he had meant nothing.