"Yes. It is much better so. Sir Richard, in the altered state of my fortunes, would never think me a sufficiently good match for his son."
"But the honour, Miss Mary! Or rather the dishonour of their breaking it off! And your happiness? Is that not to be thought of?"
"All things that are wrong will right themselves," she replied with a quiet smile. "At least, Sir Richard thinks so.
"And Mr. Blake-Gordon, is he willing to submit to the separation quietly? Pardon me, Miss Mary. If your father were alive, I should know my place too well to say a word on the subject: but--but I seem to have been drawn very close to you since that time of desolation, and my heart resents all slight on you as he would have resented it. I could not rest until I knew the truth."
"Say no more about it," breathed Mary. "Let the topic be between us as one that had never had existence. It will be for my happiness."
"But can nothing be done?" persisted Thomas Hill. "Should not your uncle go and expostulate with them and expose their villainy--for I can call it by no other name?"
"Not for worlds," she said, hastily. "It is I who have broken the engagement, Mr. Hill; not they. I wrote this morning and restored Mr. Blake-Gordon his freedom: this afternoon I bade him farewell for ever. It is all over and done with: never mention it again to me."
"And you--what are your plans for the future?--And, oh, forgive me for being anxious, my dear young lady! I had you on my knee often as a little one, and in my heart you have been as dear to me and seemed to grow up as my own daughter. Where shall you live?"
"I cannot yet tell where. I am poor, you know," she added, with one of her sweet, sad smiles. "For the present I am going on a visit to my Uncle James."
"Greylands' Rest would be your most suitable home now," spoke Thomas Hill slowly and dubiously. "But--I don't know that you would like it. Mrs. Castlemaine----"