"You must not speak of that, Aldyth," he said, with an effort; "Hilda will never be the mistress of my home. In fact—I came here to tell you—our engagement is at an end."
"Oh, Guy!" was all Aldyth could say.
"Yes, it is so," he said, finding words more readily now. "And, on the whole—though, of course it has all been excessively trying—I believe it is for the best. We are not in the least suited to each other."
"I never thought that you were." The words slipped from Aldyth almost unawares. "But what a pity," she added quickly, "you did not find this out before; it would have spared Hilda so much suffering."
"It was a pity," he said gravely; "but you are hardly the one to reproach me, Aldyth, since it was mainly your fault."
"My fault! What do you mean?" she demanded.
"You know of whom I first thought," he said, insinuatingly; "I hoped I had overcome that feeling. I fancied I could love Hilda, but I found it was a mistake."
"Do not speak of that, if you please, Guy!" cried Aldyth, her eyes flashing indignation on him. "I will not hear such words. I cannot trust myself to say what I think of your conduct, it seems to me so unworthy a man, not to say a gentleman."
She turned from him in anger as Miss Lorraine appeared at the drawing room window, beckoning to them to come in. Aldyth had to fly to her room to cool her burning cheeks and recover self-possession ere she took her place at the tea-table.