She had never before called him by that name, and now she did not know what she had called him.
"What's all over?" he asked mechanically.
"Everything," she said; "your thinking I was going to, perhaps, some time—and all that. Because now I never shall. O, Bobbie, I do hate hurting you, and I do like you so frightfully much! But he's written to me: the letter's been delayed. And it's all a mistake. And I'm going to him now. Oh,—I hope you'll be able to forgive me!"
"It's not your fault," he said. "Wait a minute. It's so sudden. Yes, I see. Don't you worry about me, dearest, I shall be all right. May I know who it is?"
"It's Mr. Vernon," said Betty.
"Oh, my God!" Temple's hand clenched. "No, no, no, no!"
"I am so very, very sorry," said Betty in the tone one uses who has trodden on another's foot in an omnibus.
He had sat down at one of the little tables, and was looking out over the shining river with eyes half shut.
"But it's not true," he said. "It can't be true! He's going to marry Lady St. Craye."
"That's all a mistake," said Betty eagerly; "he only said that because—I haven't time to tell you all about it now. But it was all a mistake."