CHAPTER XII.
The little party that had so gayly assembled in the old library broke up in the deepest gloom. Sir John was the only one who seemed at all incredulous.
"Rely upon it," he said, "that, after all, it is some trick of the French woman."
But Lady Thesiger had no such hope.
"I felt sure there was something wrong with Miles," she said. "He was not happy. He had married in haste and repented at leisure."
For my own part, I had no hope. Remembering the subtle, seductive beauty of the woman, I could well imagine Miles being led, even against himself, into a marriage or anything else.
When they were gone I went back to the library. I wanted to face this terrible blow alone, to realize the possibility that instead of being Sir Edgar Trevelyan, of Crown Anstey, wealthy, honored and powerful, I was Edgar Trevelyan, poor, homeless and penniless.
Could it be possible that after this life of ease, luxury and happiness, I was to fall back into the old position—hard, monotonous labor, with eighty pounds per annum?
It seemed too hard. Do not think any the worse of me, reader, if I own that the tears came into my eyes. It was bitterly hard.