The groom that carried Lady Wentworth’s letter from Sunstead to the Ambletons’ house had been told to wait for an answer to the note addressed to Valentine.
Christina found herself opening the envelope brought to her in her own room an hour or so later, with a new sensation stirring in her veins—that of an excitement that was strongly allied with doubt, and a premonition of disappointment.
Her premonition was fully realized as she glanced at the few curt words written in Valentine’s bold handwriting.
“Mr. Ambleton regrets,” was all this letter contained, “that circumstances will prevent him from calling upon Lady Wentworth; neither does he see any necessity for an interview between himself and Lady Wentworth.”
Christina put the letter down on her table, and bit her lip sharply.
She found it a bitter fact to swallow that Valentine evidently had determined to have absolutely nothing to do with her, good, bad or indifferent.
Christina would have welcomed his anger, but not his indifference, and she could not argue away the resolute tone of this letter, look at it whichever way she might.
Had she sat down quietly and sorted out her feelings at this moment, she must have been surprised at her attitude toward the man whom she had told herself passionately, a hundred times, that she hated. She might, moreover, have wondered not merely why, but how and when, she had discovered that Valentine was not a man to be despised but rather one to be desired?
Dynechester was not a very big world, but Christina had, up to now, lived among small influences and powers, and this being the case she was more susceptible to impressions than another might have been.
Like many arrogant, self-opinionated and selfish natures, Christina had her sensitive points.