nd he had thought that
she would do the same. But gradually he found that she had not done
so, did not do so, could not do so! When she first heard of Lady Mary
she had not reprimanded him,--but she could not keep herself from
showing the bitterness of her disappointment. Though she would still
boast of her own strength and of her own purpose, yet it was too
clear to him that she was wounded and very sore. She would have
liked him to remain single at any rate till she herself were married.
But the permission had been hardly given before he availed himself
of it. And then he talked to her not only of the brilliancy of his
prospects,--which she could have forgiven,--but of his love--his
love!

Then she had refused one offer after another, and he had known it
all. There was nothing in which she was concerned that she did not
tell him. Then young Silverbridge had come across her, and she
had determined that he should be her husband. She had been nearly
successful,--so nearly that at moments she had felt sure of success.
But the prize had slipped from her through her own fault. She knew
well enough that it was her own fault. When a girl submits to play
such a game as that, she should not stand on too nice scruples. She
had told herself this many a time since;--but the prize was gone.

All this Tregear knew, and knowing it almost dreaded the coming
interview. He could not without actual cruelty have avoided her. Had
he done so before he could not have continued to do so now, when she
was left alone in the world. Her father had not been much to her, but
still his presence had enabled her to put herself before the world as
being somebody. Now she would be almost nobody. And she had lost her
rich prize, while he,--out of the same treasury as it were,--had won
his!

The door was opened to him by the same old woman, and he was shown,
at a funereal pace, up into the drawing-room which he had known so
well. He was told that Lady Mabel would be down to him directly. As
he looked about him he could see that already had been commenced that
work of division of spoil which is sure to follow the death of most
of us. Things were already gone which used to be familiar to his
eyes, and the room, though not dismantled, had been deprived of many
of its little prettinesses and was ugly.

In about ten minutes she came down to him,--with so soft a step that
he would not have been aware of her entrance had he not seen her
form in the mirror.