‘Did you wear a hat and white feather in Budmouth for the week or two previous to your coming here?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I have seen you and your lover at a distance! He rowed you round the bay with your brother.’
‘Yes.’
‘And without your brother—fie! There, there, don’t let that little heart beat itself to death: throb, throb: it shakes the bed, you silly thing. I didn’t mean that there was any harm in going alone with him. I only saw you from the Esplanade, in common with the rest of the people. I often run down to Budmouth. He was a very good figure: now who was he?’
‘I—I won’t tell, madam—I cannot indeed!’
‘Won’t tell—very well, don’t. You are very foolish to treasure up his name and image as you do. Why, he has had loves before you, trust him for that, whoever he is, and you are but a temporary link in a long chain of others like you: who only have your little day as they have had theirs.’
‘’Tisn’t true! ‘tisn’t true! ‘tisn’t true!’ cried Cytherea in an agony of torture. ‘He has never loved anybody else, I know—I am sure he hasn’t.’
Miss Aldclyffe was as jealous as any man could have been. She continued—
‘He sees a beautiful face and thinks he will never forget it, but in a few weeks the feeling passes off, and he wonders how he could have cared for anybody so absurdly much.’