“Why not a run to Saint Malo and a couple of months’ yachting?”
Sir Mark proposed as a cure foreign travel, but Myra refused to go. Edie tried vainly to inveigle her into some distraction, and Guest spent a little fortune in concert and opera tickets in trying to persuade her to accompany them, but they were generally wasted.
Miss Jerrold tried hard, too, and was more successful, coaxing her niece to come and stay at her house, or to spend quiet afternoons with her, no one else being admitted. And all the time it was understood that the unfortunate engagement was a subject tabooed; but one day, when Myra was with her alone, Guest having been there by accident when the cousins came—that is to say, by one of his accidents, and at a suggestion from Miss Jerrold that a walk would do Edie good, as her face looked “very pasty,” having taken Edie for the said walk—Miss Jerrold seeing the wistful eyes, sunken cheeks, and utter prostration of her niece’s face, bethought her of a plan to try and revive interest in things mundane, at a time when the girl seemed to be slowly dropping out of life.
“We’ve petted and cosseted her too much,” said Aunt Jerrold to herself. “I’ll try that.”
She tried that, and attacked her niece in a very blunt, rough way, keenly watching the effect of her words the while.
“I do wonder at a girl of your spirit wearing your heart out for the sake of a scoundrel. That’s done it!” she added to herself, for a complete change came over Myra’s aspect.
“Aunt!” she cried indignantly.
“I can’t help it, my dear,” said the old lady sharply. “I’ve kept it back too long, and it’s only just that I should tell you how reprehensible your conduct is. Here is a wretched man who professes to love you—”
“Malcolm Stratton did love me, aunt,” said Myra proudly, as stung beyond endurance she gave utterance to the thoughts she had kept hidden so long.
“Looks like it!” continued Aunt Jerrold. “Bah! the horsepond is too good for such as he!”