"If you talk like that, I shall know you're in love with him," said Harry tauntingly and angrily. "I was a fool to tell you. You're just upset, my dear," he added, "at the idea of his knowing of the whole thing. By to-morrow, when he comes back, everything will have calmed down."
"I want to be left alone," said Valentia.
Harry was annoyed, for he himself was not just now in the mood for reverie, and even in the smallest things he disliked giving up his own wishes.
"Oh, very well," he said ungraciously; "perhaps it's a pity I wrote the letter."
"Perhaps it is," she answered as she went away and shut the door.
Harry sat up late, swearing at his own indiscretion and the unaccountability of women. But he was not prepared for what followed.
The next morning, as he was dressing, a note was given to him. It said—
"Dear Harry,
"After what you told me yesterday, I feel I never wish to see you again. This is not anger; but it's incurable. I can't account for it, but it is there. How you could have been so stupid as to think I could remain with both you and Romer in the house with this knowledge between us, I simply can't understand. How could I help contrasting his generosity with your self-interested selfishness? I am not angry any more about Miss Walmer. I'm quite indifferent. If you married her to-morrow it would give me no pain. The only kind thing you can do for me now, and the one thing I implore, is to go away on any pretext you like and without seeing me again. To put it perfectly plainly, Harry, I have changed entirely since last night. I see everything differently. Everything is different. Forgive me, but I don't wish to see you any more.
"Valentia.