"I own that it is not your fault that I love you; nor can I admit that it is my misfortune."
"There is one chief reason why your flattering proposals are unwelcome to me. I happen already to be a promised wife. I am engaged to Mr. Paxton."
"Is that so? Then I am sorry for you."
"Why are you sorry?"
"Ere long, unless I am mistaken, you will learn that I have cause for sorrow, and that you have cause for sorrow too."
Without another word the lady, the gentleman making no effort to detain her, walked away. She went straight home.
She found Miss Wentworth in her favourite attitude--feet stretched on a chair in front of her--engaged, as Miss Strong chose to phrase it, in "her everlasting reading." When Miss Wentworth was not writing she was wont to be reading. Miss Strong occasionally wished that she would employ herself in more varying occupations.
Momentarily oblivious of the coolness which had sprung up between her friend and herself, Miss Strong plumped herself down on to a chair, forgetful also of the fact that she had brought her umbrella with her into the room, and that the rain was trickling down it.
"Charlie, whatever do you think has happened?"
Miss Wentworth had contented herself with nodding as her friend had entered. Now, lowering her book, she glanced at her over the top of it.