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Updated: June 9, 2025
He is half-way across the room when she says: "Good-bye, Maurice," in a faint tone, like a child repeating a lesson. The sorrow in Rylton's heart is deeper as he leaves the house. The parting between Margaret and Tita had taken a long time. There had been many admonitions from the former, and entreaties from the latter, principally about Margaret's coming to see her as soon as possible.
His questions had been so clever, so altogether without anxiety, that the maid had believed in him, and saw nothing in his words to dwell upon later. Yet Rylton's heart had seemed to cease beating as she answered him. She had gone riding with Hescott. With Hescott! Will she ever come back? Tita's face, when she had left him that last night, is before him now.
"Your uncle he cannot live for ever." "I detest dead men's shoes," returns he coldly. Her last words have chilled him to his heart's core. "And besides, my uncle has as good a life as my own." To this she makes no answer; her eyes are downbent. Rylton's face is growing hard and cold. "You refuse, then?" says he at last. "I refuse nothing, but " She breaks off.
Miss Bolton sits up. A little troubled expression grows within her eyes. "Oh! must you?" cried she. "She will be mad. She won't let you marry me I know she won't. She hates me." "My dear child, why?" Rylton's tone is shocked. The very truth in her declaration makes it the more shocking. And how does she know? His mother has been sweetness itself to her before the curtain.
It is not difficult to answer," with a contemptuous glance from under the long, soft lashes, beneath which his glance sinks into insignificance. "You would like to give me away!" There is a pause. It is on Rylton's tongue to say she has given herself away very considerably of late, but he abstains from saying so with difficulty, however! "No, I should not," says Rylton gravely. "No?
She breaks off, evidently overcome, yet behind the cobweb she presses to her cheeks she has an eye on Marian. "I don't think Maurice's arms could hold her," says Mrs. Bethune, with a low laugh. It is a strange laugh. Lady Rylton's glance grows keener. "Such a mere doll of a thing. A mite!" "Yes, she's a mere mite," says Lady Rylton. "She is positively trivial!
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