But what did I know of her real character? What of my first doubts and
suspicions? She had by no means dispelled them. She had only
bamboozled me by her insinuating ways, had drawn me on by her guileful
cleverness to pity and promises to befriend her. I had accorded her an
active sympathy which in my more sober moments I felt she did not,
could not, deserve; if I were not careful she would yet involve me in
some inextricable mess.
So for half an hour I abused her fiercely; I swore at myself hotly as
an ass, a hopeless and unmitigated ass, ever ready to be betrayed and
beguiled by woman's wiles, the too easy victim of the first pretty
face I saw. The fit lasted for quite half an hour, and then came the
reaction. I heard her rich deep voice singing in my ears, I felt the
haunting glamour of her eyes, remembered her gracious presence, and my
heart went out to her. I was so sorry for her: how could I cast her
off? How could I withhold my countenance if she were in real distress?
She was a woman--a weak, helpless woman; I could not desert and
abandon her. However reprehensible her conduct might have been, she
had a claim to my protection from ill-usage, and I knew in my heart
that she might count upon a good deal more.
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