"You really mean to say the engagement wasn't actually broken off before you sent it?" said Mrs. St. Orme, looking shocked.
"It didn't occur to either of us," said Hilary, looking down with a smile at the corners of her mouth. "He chose to take exception to my being seen riding in the park with Mr. Fletcher. And I took exception to his interference. Not that I like Mr. Fletcher, for I don't. But I had to assert my right to choose my own friends. He disputed it. And then we parted. No one is going to interfere with my freedom."
"You were never truly in love with him, then?" said Mrs. St. Orme, regret and relief struggling in her voice.
Hilary looked up with clear eyes.
"Oh, never, darling!" she said tranquilly. "Nor he with me. I don't know what it means; do you? You can't—surely—be in love with the poor old pater?"
She laughed at the idea and idly took up a paper lying at hand. Half a minute later she uttered a sharp cry and looked up with flaming cheeks.
"How—how—dare he?" she cried, almost incoherent with angry astonishment. "Sybil! For Heaven's sake! See!"
She thrust the paper upon her step-mother's knee and pointed with a finger that shook uncontrollably at a brief announcement in the society column.
"We are requested to state that the announcement in yesterday's issue that the marriage arranged between Viscount Merrivale and Miss Hilary St. Orme would not take place was erroneous. The marriage will take place, as previously announced, towards the end of the season."