If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. “Why should I bear the burden of your wickedness? Who knows what might come of it? I shall permit nothing of the sort. His lawful wife; but nothing more; beyond that she was only an idea, a trust. ” “Miss Ellicot! That old cat!” Sydney exclaimed indignantly. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed.
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