Whilst these thoughts possessed her, Guy again held out his hand. She took it mechanically, and the next instant he hurried from the room. Three minutes later she saw him drive away from the house.
Aldyth burst into tears. It was hard to have to pay such a price for an inheritance she had never desired. She began to hate the wealth that was bringing such isolation into her life. Her cousin, the playmate of her childhood, was driven from the home in which he had been brought up; her dearest friend was alienated from her, and all through no fault of her own. It was hard. Aldyth needed not to be told that she had become a chief centre of interest in the little world of Woodham. Past experience made her perfectly aware that her name was constantly on the lips of the gossips, and that truth was likely to suffer in the rapid exchange of ideas regarding her that was going on.
But she would have smiled had she known the magnitude to which her fortune had been blown by the breath of Rumour. According to some persons, the savings of old Stephen Lorraine had been enormous, and his niece had come into possession of little short of half a million. And to make the contrast as striking as possible, Guy's bequest was proportionately reduced. He had been cut off with a shilling and the farm at Wood Corner, which every one knew did not comprise the most productive acres in the neighbourhood.
"Have you heard the news, Mr. Glynne?" asked Clara Dawtrey, brave in the consciousness of a fresh pink gingham, which he must admire, as she stopped that gentleman in the London Road.
"What news, Miss Dawtrey?" he asked, fixing on her his peculiarly earnest gaze.
John Glynne had the quality of being a thorough listener. Clara found the gravity of his expression and the close attention he was paying to her words rather disconcerting, as she said, rapidly—
"Oh, the news about Aldyth Lorraine, I mean. Do you know that she has become a great heiress? Old Stephen saved tremendously all his life, and she has come in for no end of money. He was as close as possible; they say he would not even buy a new suit when his brother died. But I do call it a shame that such a nice fellow as Guy should have nothing."
"Is it so?" asked Mr. Glynne, quietly. "Does Mr. Guy Lorraine inherit nothing?"
"Oh, he has that mean little farm at Wood Corner, but what is that when he expected to be the heir of Wyndham? I am sorry for Hilda, but I must say it is amusing to think of Mrs. Bland's disappointment. She must have congratulated herself that Hilda was going to make such a good match."
The young lady laughed gleefully, but not a muscle of John Glynne's face changed. It was impossible to judge how he was affected by the news just out in Woodham, for it was the evening of the day on which old Mr. Lorraine's funeral had taken place.