"Perhaps, Sir George, you will be kind enough to direct
the man who brought me here to pick me up at the lodge." And so she
walked away--a mile across the park,--neither of them caring to
follow her.
It seemed to her as she stood at the lodge gate, having obstinately
refused to enter the house, to be an eternity before the fly came
to her. When it did come she felt as though her strength would
barely enable her to climb into it. And when she was there she
wept, with bitter throbbing woe, all the way to Rufford. It was
over now at any rate. Now there was not a possible chance on which
a gleam of hope might be made to settle. And how handsome he was,
and how beautiful the place, and how perfect would have been the
triumph could she have achieved it! One more word,--one other
pressure of the hand in the post-chaise might have done it! Had he
really promised her marriage she did not even now think that he
would have gone back from his word. If that heavy stupid duke would
have spoken to him that night at Mistletoe, all would have been
well! But now,--now there was nothing for her but weeping and
gnashing of teeth. He was gone, and poor Morton was gone; and all
those others, whose memories rose like ghosts before her;--they
were all gone. And she wept as she thought that she might perhaps
have made a better use of the gifts which Providence had put in her
way.
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