Meanwhile Blagdon, with his hands in his pockets, stood in the window of the hall, which commanded a full view of the short entrance drive, his eyes fixed on the receding figure. When he saw her approach and pass through the great gates, making her final and ignominious exit, he muttered under his breath, “She’s gone!” and then he went back to the smoking-room, selected one of his best cigars, and sat down to meditate upon his future plans.
Frances Lumley, who happened to be crossing the village square, halted when she beheld her friend. What had happened? Why this white, stricken face? She held out her hand, and enquired:
“Is anything the matter?”
For a moment the unhappy girl seemed to choke; then—she stammered: “Yes—Hugo has just turned me out of the house.”
“Turned you out! Oh, my poor Letty! Then you will come home with me, of course?” And as she spoke, she took her arm.
It was but a few yards to the Rectory, and as they walked up the avenue, Letty halted abruptly, and said:
“I don’t think I should come here,” releasing her friend, and supporting herself by a railing that bordered the drive.
“Nonsense!”
“But, Frances, you don’t know. It was because of your brother that—that—Hugo has cast me off.”
“Because of Lancelot!” exclaimed Miss Lumley, suddenly disconcerted; her colour rose, her eyes dilated.