“‘I, too, am proud, though not a Beresford. There may be other pride than that of wealth and place.
“‘I, little Floy Fane, the daughter of a most unfortunate race, born to a heritage of sorrow, poor and alone in life, am yet too proud to thrust myself upon a family that despises me, yet whose equal I feel myself to be in all but money—that mere dross to a truly noble heart.
“‘So I have left you forever. I am glad that I have been of some use to you. I pity you and love you, for it seems to me that pride has made shipwreck of your own life. Love has no part in it, and you are not happy.
“‘Do not feel troubled over my fate. Thanks to your generosity, I have money enough to support me till I find work again.
“‘This ring—your brother’s gift to me in the hour when I promised to be his wife, not knowing his family’s pride and his own fickle heart—please return to him with a last farewell from
“‘Floy.’”
The letter bore date of the evening before. She had waited—poor little loving heart—for one sight of him, her fickle, lost love; then she had stolen away, alone and lonely, to begin her battle with the world again.
It was a cruel disappointment to them all, but they bore it bravely, because it did not seem possible that Floy could hide herself from them long.
Indeed, she had not even threatened to hide herself, for how could she suppose they would search for her in her exile?
She had told herself most bitterly that they would rejoice at her flight.