"What, Trix—with Captain Hammond?"
"Bother Captain Hammond! I want you. O Edie, do come!"
"I can't, Trix." She turned away with an impatient sigh. "I have promised. Sir Victor wishes it, Lady Helena wishes it. It is impossible."
"And Edith Darrell wishes it. Oh, say it out, Edith," Trix retorted bitterly. "Your faults are many, but fear of the truth used not to be among them. You have promised. Is it that they are afraid to trust you out of their sight?"
"Let me alone, Trix. I am tired and sick—I can't bear it."
She laid her face down upon her arm—tired, as she said—sick, soul and body. Every fibre of her heart was longing to go with them—to be with him while she might, treason or no to Sir Victor; but it could not be.
Trix stood and looked at her, pale with anger.
"I will let you alone, Miss Darrell. More—I will let you alone for the remainder of your life. All the past has been bad enough. Your deceit to me, your heartlessness to Charley—this is the last drop in the cup. You throw us over when we have served your turn for newer, grander friends—it is only the way of the world, and what one might expect from Miss Edith Darrell. But I didn't expect it—I didn't think ingratitude was one among your failings. I was a fool!" cried Trix, with a burst. "I always was a fool and always will be. But I'll be fooled by you no longer. Stay here, Miss Darrell, and when we say good-by day after to-morrow, it shall be good-by forever."
And then Miss Stuart, very red in the face, very flashing in the eyes, bounced out of the room, and Edith was left alone.
Only another friend lost forever. Well, she had Sir Victor Catheron left—he must suffice for all now.