The truth
must be told, but, oh, how bitter must the truth be! Even that
accusation as to the lover had not been made till after she had
resolved to reject him; and she could not bring herself to lie to her
mother by pretending that the one had caused the other.

After lunch on the second day Maude Hippesley came down and found her
amongst the trees in the shrubbery. It will be remembered that Maude
was niece to Sir Francis, and was at the present time living in the
same house with him. "Cecilia," she said, "what is this that has
happened?"

"He has told you then?"

"What is it? He has told us all that you have quarrelled, and now he
has gone away."

"Thank God for that!"

"Yes;--he has gone. But he told us only just as he went. And he has
made a mystery of it,--so that I do not know how it has happened,--or
why."

"Did I not tell you?"

"Yes;--you told me something--something that made me think you mad.
But it is he that has rejected you now!"

"Has he told you that?"

"He has told us all so, just as he was leaving us. After his things
were packed up he told us." Cecilia stood still and looked into her
friend's face. Maude she knew could say nothing to her that was not
true. "He has made a mystery of it, but that has been the impression
he has left upon us. At any rate there has been a quarrel."

"Yes;--there has been a quarrel."

"And now our only business is to make it up. It is impossible that
two people who have loved each other as you have done should be
allowed to part in so absurd a manner. It is like two children who
think they are never to be friends again because of some momentary
disagreement." Maude Hippesley, who had not lived in the same town
with her lover and therefore had never quarrelled with him, was
awfully wise. "It is quite out of the question," she continued,
"that this thing should go on. I don't think it matters in the least
whether you quarrel with him or he with you. But of course you must
make it up. And as you are the woman it is only proper that you
should begin."

How much had Cecilia to do before she could prove to her friend that
no such beginning was possible. In the first place there was the
falsehood, the base falsehood, which Sir Francis had told. In order
to save himself he had declared that he had rejected her. It was
very mean. At this moment its peculiar meanness made her feel doubly
sure that the man was altogether unfitted to be her husband. But she
would a