"I dare say! Mrs. Major is their sister. Mother seems very much pleased that Rob should have had the invitation. You don't seem to have made much use of your openings at school."
Magda did not hear. She was suddenly engrossed by Patricia's letter, which indeed contained something altogether unexpected and astounding. No exclamation passed her lips. She read on in stupefied silence, at first hardly able to grasp the full meaning of the words, which ran as follows:—
"Wratt-Wrothesley."
"Tuesday."
"MY DEAR MAGDA,—"
"You will be rather surprised to find that I am here, in the same house with your brother, and with your friends the Majors. Why did you not tell me about their coming to Burwood, you dear little goose? Did you think I should be jealous? My aunt and I went lately to call at Virginia Villa—not dreaming that you knew them! And we were just charmed with them both. Mrs. Major is quite unique; and the daughter so pretty and charming. Of course everybody knows all about Mrs. Major, directly it oozes out that she is a sister of the Miss Wryatts'; and I believe it is solely through them that I have this invitation to Wyatt-Wrothesley, where I have always longed to come—though certainly I knew the Miss Wryatts slightly before. They are about the most delightful people I ever came across; and the house and its surroundings are simply perfect."
"I am enjoying myself here more than I can tell; and for more reasons than one—as you will understand! You are such a devoted sister, that you have certainly read Rob's letter before giving a look at mine; so you know the news, and there is no need to tell you again. We are very, very happy—he and I. How happy I cannot explain, or hope to make you understand, since you have never yet been through the same. He is such a dear fellow! I can hardly believe in my good luck! And it is nice to think that one day you will be my sister. Not that we talk of marriage yet. That must wait till Rob gets a living. But everything is so far settled—except that Rob is writing to his father and mother and I am writing to my aunt. Everybody here congratulates us both—each on having the other—which is all right!"
"Your affectionate friend,"
"PATRICIA."
With dazzled eyes and beating heart, Magda tore open Rob's letter, not trusting herself to speak. As from a distance she heard Mr. Royston's excited exclamations—
"Hallo! So Rob has stolen a march on us all! Engaged! And to Miss Vincent! Well, well, he knows a pretty face when he sees it. Pretty manners too, and a nice girl; and there is money in the background. Might have done worse for himself."
Magda was reading, or trying to read, Rob's short letter, brimming with suppressed joy and tender gladness, which found no echo in her heart. He spoke of his darling—of his supreme happiness—of his certainty that Magda would rejoice with and for him. Not one word about that discarded dream of the future, now never to be anything but a dream. Not a thought of her disappointment! For him and Patricia—all might be sunshine. But—where did she come in?
She stood up hastily, sliding her chair back. "Where are you off to?" Mr. Royston asked. He disliked any one leaving the table before himself. "Did you hear about Rob?"
"Yes—I know."
Before another word could be said, she was gone. It was impossible to stay, impossible to hear them lightly and with laughter discussing that which was the death-knell of her hopes. Again it was as if a small thunderbolt had crashed down at her feet; not this time from any fault of her own, which might have been a comfort, had she only seen it. To bear a trouble which comes straight from a Father's Hand is always easier than to endure one which we have brought upon ourselves.
Still, it did seem very, very hard to Magda; and not less so because it was Patricia who had stolen Rob from her. Till now she had never quite realised what that dream of the future had been in her imagination—how fixed and stable it had seemed, how it had coloured all her outlook, how it had comforted and helped her in little daily frets and worries, how it had filled the horizon of her mind. And lately she had worked so hard, so eagerly, to make herself ready! And now—now—she was nothing to Rob; now Rob would never want her, would never again turn to her for sympathy. He had Patricia; and in Patricia, he would find all he needed.