"Dear Mrs. Bland," she said at once, sure of her sympathy, "I don't think you need to be told that I would much rather not have had Wyndham. It is a real pain to me that Guy should go away, and I should be established here. I would reverse our positions if I could."
"I do not wish them reversed," said Mrs. Bland; "an equal division of the property would have been the right thing, in my opinion. I always thought you would have a handsome legacy, Aldyth, for your father was very dear to Mr. Lorraine and continued to be so to the end, I believe, in spite of that unhappy estrangement."
"Uncle once spoke to me about Wyndham," said Aldyth, "and I promised him I would use any influence I had to prevent the old place from being greatly altered after his death; but I am sure, although he spoke in that way, I never dreamed that he meant to leave the place to me."
"Of course not, my dear; how should you?" said Mrs. Bland. "Well, it is a great disappointment for Guy; but perhaps, after all, he will be none the worse for having to work harder and depend more upon himself. His marriage must be indefinitely postponed; but they are young, and a lengthened probation will be a good test of their love. Hilda, poor child, cannot see it in that light. But here come some more visitors—Clara Dawtrey and her father, I declare! You will have all Woodham out here this week, Aldyth."
"I could dispense with much of this civility," said Aldyth, smiling. "I hate to be treated us if I were somehow different from my former self. I do hope my friends will not change towards me."
"They are not likely to do that as long as you remain what you are," said Mrs. Bland, kissing her.
But Aldyth soon learned with sorrow that Hilda's love for her had cooled; and perhaps the change which she discerned in another friend cost her still deeper pain. Mr. Glynne was not amongst those who traversed the five straight miles of dusty road to pay their respects to the heiress of Wyndham. Aldyth hardly expected that he would come unless invited; but when some weeks later she chanced to meet him at Mrs. Greenwood's, there was such a lack of the old friendliness in his manner as made it impossible for her to respond to his grave politeness except with a courtesy equally distant.
Had any one told John Glynne that he had spoken coldly to Aldyth Lorraine, he would have been surprised. He was conscious of an inward excitement on seeing her that forced him to exercise strong self-control. Whilst talking to others he thought only of her, and nothing that she said or did escaped his notice. But it was impossible for Aldyth to know this. She was conscious only that he remained aloof from her, and when others were paying her considerable attention, appeared indifferent to her presence.
When he quitted the drawing room without having attempted to exchange a word with her, Aldyth's heart throbbed with painful resentment.
"Why should he be different to me now?" she asked herself. "I never needed a friend more than I do at this time, and he is so wise and good; he could advise me, he could help me. There are so many things I should like to say to him, but I cannot utter a word when he looks at me in that grave, severe way. Oh, I did think I could rest on his friendship; but that, too, is slipping away from me."