"Onora, my dearest little one, have you anything to tell me?" Unable to bear the suspense any longer, Lady Cinnamond had pursued her daughter to her room.
"No, mamma; only that he is gone."
"But you have not sent him away?"
"I told him again that I could not marry him."
"But I thought you cared for him!" Lady Cinnamond's regret was not unmixed with indignation. "When you thought he was dead, you said——"
It was Honour's turn to be indignant. "I said I couldn't tell, mamma.
And I don't like him as much now as I did when I thought he was dead."
"These poor young men!" lamented her mother. "Then is the unfortunate
Mr Gerrard to be made happy at last? Or is it some one else?"
"It isn't any one!" cried Honour hotly. "Is it my fault if they will want to marry me? I am sure I have made it clear to them over and over again that I don't want to marry anybody."
"My child, that is a thing that nothing will make clear to a man," said her mother solemnly—"especially when it is plain that you take pleasure in his society."
"But I don't. Mamma, I never told you, but long ago, more than a year, I lent Sintram to Mr Charteris, without telling him how fond I was of it. He gave it back to me all smelling of smoke, and said that he couldn't make head or tail of it, but it struck him as uncommon silly."