“There is no use in a long engagement,” said Reid. “I am exceedingly sorry—I cannot pretend that I am in a position to marry a penniless girl. I—I have debts; I am desperately sorry—I would have written—I ought to have written—I have been a fearful coward, but—”
“Then you resign all claim to Florence Heathcote’s hand?” said Colonel Arbuthnot.
“Yes; I am obliged to; I am terribly, terribly sorry; it is fearfully bad of me.” Michael raised his eyes, met the flashing ones of Florence, then lowered them again. She was quite still for a minute. All the colour had gone out of her face. She was only eighteen; but a girl’s first love is sacred, and something was burned and withered, never to be restored again, in her young heart at that moment. She went straight up to Michael Reid.
“You didn’t mean a word that you said. You deceived me that day when we walked home by the river.”
“I didn’t mean to,” he said in a shamefaced way.
“Well, it is at an end,” said Colonel Arbuthnot. “There is no use in prolonging this scene. After all, Florence, you are years and years too young to be married; and as to you, Reid, you are not in any way worthy of Florence Heathcote. Some day, I trust, my dear child, you will find a man to love you for yourself, who will not think of your money, but of you.”
“My money?” said Florence. “I have no money.”
“That is not the point at present,” said Colonel Arbuthnot. “The point is that you have discovered—as many another girl does—that you have loved some one who is unworthy of you. I don’t say that you are all bad, Reid, I hope you are very far from it; but when you and your father schemed to secure this young girl simply because she was, as you imagined, rich, you overshot the mark, sir, both of you, understand me, you overshot the mark. And now I shall have the pleasure of showing you the door, Michael Reid. While Florence is here, you don’t enter my house—no, sir; you don’t enter it. Go, sir; go at once.”
It was impossible, under such circumstances, even for a lieutenant in His Majesty’s army to make a graceful exit, and Michael Reid looked uncommonly like a beaten hound as he went out of the house. As to Florence, she did not glance at either the Colonel or Michael, but rushed up to her room. There she bolted the door and flung herself on her bed.