The Blind Lark, and Scarlet Stockings Book

This is one of those Henry James stories that ends with an unexpected yet plausible reveal, which practically compels you to reread it. Evidently he mastered that trick at the outset of his career, and kept using it. A wealthy young man man who paints comes to a remote town in Maine to spend the summer working in isolation, following a romantic disappointment. He takes a room with an old widower and his daughter, with whom he gradually falls in love. She gradually warms to him. Finally, having married him, she admits that she had read his diary when he was ill, learned about his money, and reeled him in deliberately. Her version of coquetry involves humiliating him for his social clumsiness. There is the sense that for the protagonist, her cunning and deception, her bluntness and teasing of him are erotically fascinating.

"She folded her arms, and quietly looked at me for a moment, before answering. I shouldn't wonder if I blushed a little. 'You want a compliment, Mr. Locksley; that's the long and short of it. I have not paid you a compliment since you have been here. How you must have suffered! But it's a pity you couldn't have waited awhile longer, instead of beginning to angle with that very clumsy bait. For an artist, you are very inartistic.'"p.84

The Library of America uses the original magazine text of this story, rather than the revised text from 1885's Stories Revived. The original version ends thus:
"So you read that thing?" I asked: actually'strange as it may seem − for something to say.
"Yes, while you were ill. It was lying with your pen in it, on the table. I read it because I suspected. Otherwise I shouldn't have done so."
"It was the act of a false woman," said I. "
A false woman? No--simply of a woman. I am a woman, Sir." And she began to smile. "Come, you be a man!"

And here is the 1885 ending from Stories Revived
A false woman? No, it was the act of any woman'placed as I was placed. You don't believe it?" And she began to smile. "Come, you may abuse me in your diary if you like. I shall never peep into it again!"