"Whom do you mean?" I asked. "Please say it out quickly. Is father going to marry? No, it can't be—it shan't be! What is it, please, Lady Carrington—please say it quickly?"
"For many reasons I am sorry, Heather, but we must make the best of things in this world, dear, not the worst. Your father is to be married on Monday next to Lady Helen Dalrymple."
I sat perfectly still after she had spoken. Her news came on me like a mighty shock—I felt quite stunned and cold. At first, too, I did not realise any pain. Then, quickly, and, as it seemed to me, through every avenue in my body at the same moment, pain rushed in—it filled my heart almost to the bursting point. It turned sweetness into bitterness and sunshine into despair. Father! Father! Father! Had I not waited for him, all during the long years? And now!
I felt so distracted that I could not keep still. I stood up and faced Lady Carrington; she put out her hand to touch me—I pushed her hand away. I began to pace up and down the floor. After a few minutes Lady Carrington followed me. Then I turned to her, almost like a little savage. I said:
"Is there anywhere in this big, grand, horrid house where I can be quite alone?"
"Yes, Heather, you shall be quite alone in my bedroom," said Lady Carrington.
I had no manners at that moment, no sense of civility.
"I know the way to your bedroom," I said. I dashed upstairs without waiting for her to lead me; I rushed into the room, I turned the key in the lock, and then I flung myself on the floor. I was alone, thank God for that! How I beat out my own terrible suffering, how I fought and fought and fought with the demon who rent me, I can never describe to any mortal. No tears came to my relief. After a time I sat up. I had so far recovered my self-possession that I could at least remain quiet. I went stealthily towards the big looking-glass; I saw my reflection in it, my little pale face, my dark hair in its orderly curls—those curls which even my tempest of grief could scarcely disarrange, my neat, snuff-coloured brown dress—so old-fashioned and therefore none so beloved. That morning I had gone shopping with her—I had allowed her to buy me dresses on dresses, and hats and toques, and muffs, and gloves, and shoes—oh! I would not touch one of her things! I felt at that moment that I could have killed her! To be torn from father, to find him again and then to lose him, that was the crudest stroke of all!
I looked at my wan face in the glass and hoped that I should die soon; that was the only thing left to wish for—to live in such a way that I should die soon. I thought that I might effect this by a course of starvation. I would begin at once. To-day was Thursday—if I ate nothing at all from the present moment until Monday, there was a good chance of my dying on Monday. That would be the best plan.
There came a tap at the room door.