No, at the moment at least Mina did not rejoice on that account.

When she reached home, there was nothing to change her mood. She found
Cecily in a melancholy so sympathetic as to invite an immediate
outpouring of the heart. Cecily was beautiful that evening, in her black
frock, with her fair hair, her pale face, and her eyes full of tragedy.
She had been writing, it appeared; ink and paper were on the table. She
was very quiet, but, Mina thought, with the stillness that follows a
storm. Unasked, the Imp sketched the dinner party, especially Harry's
share in it. Her despair was laced with vitriol and she avoided a kind
word about anybody. This was blank ingratitude to Mr Disney, and to Theo
too; but our friends can seldom escape from paying for our misfortunes.

"Those people have got hold of him. We've lost him. That's the end of
it," she cried.

Cecily had nothing to say; she leant back in a limp forlornness while
Mina expatiated on this doleful text. There came a luxury into the Imp's
woe as she realized for herself and her auditor the extreme sorrows of
the situation; she forgot entirely that there was not and never had been
any reason why Harry should be anything in particular to her at least.
She observed that of course she was glad for his sake; this time-honored
unselfishness won no assent from Cecily. Lacking the reinforcement of
discussion, the stream of Mina's lamentation began to run dry.

"Oh, it's no use talking," she ended. "There it is!"

"I'm going back to Blent to-morrow," said Cecily suddenly.

It was no more than Mina had expected. "Yes, we may as well," she
assented dismally.

Cecily rose and began to walk about. Her air caught Mina's attention
again; on this, the evening before she returned to Blent, it had
something of that suppressed passion which had marked her manner on the
night when she determined to leave it. She came to a stand opposite
Mina.

"I've made up my mind. From this moment, Mina, Blent is mine. Up to now
I've held it for Harry. Now it's mine. I shall go back and begin
everything there to-morrow."

Mina felt the tragedy; the inevitable was being accepted.

"You see I've been writing?"

"Yes, Cecily." After all it looked as though the Imp were not to be
cheated of her sensation.

"I've written to Cousin Harry. I've told him what I mean to do. He must
think it right; it's the only thing he's left me to do. But I've told
him I can do it only on one condition. He'll ha