Waddington answered nothing, nor would she just then talk any further
with her aunt upon the subject. They were to dine early on that
day, as their custom was when they went out in the evening. On this
evening they were going to the house--lodgings rather--of an old
friend they had not seen for some time. She had arrived a week or two
since at Littlebath, and though there had been callings between them,
they had not yet succeeded in meeting. When Bertram had arrived it
was near their dinner hour and before he went that hour was already
passed. Had his manner been as it ordinarily was, he would of course
have been asked to join them; but, as we have seen, that had been no
moment for such customary civility.

Now, however, they went to dinner, and while seated there, Miss
Waddington told her aunt that she did not feel equal to going out
that evening. Miss Baker of course said something in opposition to
this, but that something was not much. It might easily be understood
that a young lady who had just lost her lover was not in a fit state
to go to a Littlebath card-party.

And thus early in the evening Caroline contrived to be alone; and
then for the first time she attempted to realize all that had come
upon her. Hitherto she had had to support herself--herself and her
goddess-ship,--first before George Bertram, and then with lighter
effort before her aunt. But now that she was alone, she could descend
to humanity. Now that she was alone she had so to descend.

Yes; she had lost three years. To a mortal goddess, who possessed
her divinity but for a short time, this was much. Her doctrine had
been to make the most of the world. She had early resolved not to
throw away either herself or her chances. And now that she was
three-and-twenty, how had she kept her resolves? how had her doctrine
answered with her? She had lived before the world for the last two
years as a girl betrothed to a lover--before such of the world as she
knew and as knew her; and now her lover was gone; not dismissed by
her, but gone! He had rather dismissed her, and that not in the most
courteous manner.

But, to do her justice, this was not the grief that burnt most hotly
into her heart. She said to herself that it was so, that this was her
worst grief; she would fain have felt that it was so; but there was
more of humanity in her, of the sweetness of womanly humanity, than
she was aware. He had left her, and she knew not how to live without
him.