With a sudden movement of anguish and rage, Gilbert crumpled the letter in his hand and threw it from him. He sat for a while staring out of his window, while his mind began to work with incredible swiftness.
Kitty had jilted him—for Bennet!
But Gilbert knew the girl very well, and the first movements of grief, anger, pain, and amazement past, he tried to think the matter out calmly, with the result that he passionately told himself Kitty was no jilt, and there must be something astounding behind her letter. Then he picked up the crumpled sheet of paper from the floor, smoothed it out, and read its contents once more. But there was neither light nor comfort to be got from them.
What could be the explanation of her extraordinary conduct? he wondered, for of course there must be some explanation. Kitty was no shallow flirt, no woman of mere caprice. Why had she done this?
But did her letter afford no hint?
She had not only thrown him over, but she announced she was to marry Bennet—Bennet, of all people in the world! Had she not warned him against this very man? And now she was to marry him!
Why?
As Gilbert sat in his room endeavouring to solve this problem, it seemed to him that he heard Kitty's rich voice saying in low and sincere accents the words—almost the last she had uttered when they were together by the river-side three evenings before, "I feel as if I could not exist without you now, Gilbert."
What could have brought about this mighty change? What sinister, malign influence had cast its spell over her?
As he thought and thought, it appeared to him plain enough that the girl's change of mind must associate itself in some way with Bennet.