MY SECRET LIFE
ings, what you really mean is, that I am not to try to do it to her.” “Why of course, don’t ruin her, that is what I mean.”
We had walked without any intention on my part to the outskirts of our village, where the pew-opener’s house was in which Charlotte and I had spent many an hour in love’s frolics. The house was in sight, the hope of again having her came to my mind. In her excitement, which was as great if not greater than mine, she had not noticed where we were, until quite at the angle. The pew-opener was at the door, gave me a nod, and thinking it possible I might be coming in I suppose, left the door ajar. “Come in”, said I. “Never! oh! no, you have brought me here purposely." I saw there would be difficulty. “Here is that old Courtauld’s house-maid, damn her”, said I. “Where,— where,—which way?” said she looking in alarm in all directions, but unable to see clearly through her veil. “There,—there”, “just step inside the door till she has past.” She stepped in quickly, the next instant I half pulled, half hustled her through the little door in- to the bed-room, slammed the door, locked it, and stood still, half afraid of my own boldness. She went to the window and began to peer through the blinds to see the old housemaid.
“I can’t see her”, said she, “she must have passed, tell me which way she went, and let me go.” “Not yet. What do you want about Mary?” “Promise for my sake, you won’t try to ruin her.” “Well, let us have a longer talk, how do you know I want to do so?” “I know you do.” “Sit down.” “I cannot.” “Then I won’t
promise, why should I?” “Oh! don’t be a blackguard,
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