So Kitty went away, feeling that she had wasted words, and that probably the best thing for Hilda at present was to be left alone.
But, notwithstanding this reflection, scarce half an hour had passed when she again appeared in her sister's room.
"Aldyth is down stairs," she said. "She is so sorry, Hilda; she feels as we all do. Would you like to see her?"
"Oh no!" cried Hilda, excitedly. "The last person I should wish to see! I do not say she is to blame; but it is her having Wyndham which has caused all my misery."
"Really!" exclaimed Kitty, finding her sister incomprehensible. "I should rather think it was Guy being what he is. It seems to me well that you have found out in time, that he is one person in prosperity and another in adversity."
With that Kitty left her sister and descended to the drawing room, where Aldyth sat talking with Mrs. Bland. The mother's kindly face wore a look of care, but she spoke cheerfully.
"Poor child!" she said. "She feels it sorely now, but I thankful it is no worse. If she had married him under the impression he was a hero, and then found out, when it was too late, that he was of common clay, it would have been a far greater misfortune. I fear her love would not have borne that strain, and it is a terrible thing for a woman to find herself bound to a man whom she can neither love nor respect.
"I always felt they were not suited to each other. I fancy Guy did not know his own mind; it was a caprice, which opposition strengthened. I think few men are capable of making right choice of a wife before they are twenty-five. But it is hard that poor Hilda should have to suffer for his lack of discretion."
"She will not see you, Aldyth," Kitty said; "there is no rousing her anyhow."
"I am afraid she finds a kind of romantic satisfaction in cherishing and even exaggerating her unhappiness," said Mrs. Bland. "That is the way with you young things when trouble comes to you; you like to think that nothing can ever be the same again; you do not want to be comforted."