"She won't feel so long," said Winthrop,—"you can take comfort from that; my engagement is broken."
"BROKEN?"
"Yes; by Garda herself, ten minutes ago." And leaving Betty to digest this new intelligence, he went in to see his aunt.
His aunt had had herself put into an arm-chair: an arm-chair was more impressive than a bed. "I feel very ill, Evert," she began, in a faint voice; "I never could have believed that you would deceive me in this way."
"Let me undeceive you, then. My engagement—for I presume it is that you are thinking of—is broken."
"Did you break it, Evert?" pursued Aunt Katrina, still in affliction.
"No, Miss Thorne broke it. Ten minutes ago."
"A forward minx!" said the lady, veering suddenly to heat.
"It is done, at any rate. I suppose you are glad."
"Of course I am glad. But I should be gladder still if I thought I should never see her face again!"