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Estella felt the cold tighten round her heart. Yet underneath it sprang up a wild, sweet hope.

“Spencer here! I suppose he forgot it was prayer meeting night. What did he say? Why didn’t you tell him where I was?”

“I don’t know that he forgot it was prayer meeting night,” returned Mrs. Bowes with measured emphasis. “‘Tisn’t likely his memory has failed so all at once. He didn’t ask where you was. He took good care to go before you got home too. Miss LeMar entertained him. I guess she was quite capable of it.”

Estella bent over her dishes in silence. Her face was deadly white.

“I’ll send her away,” said Mrs. Bowes pityingly. “When she’s gone, Spencer will soon come back to you.”

“No, you won’t!” said Estella fiercely. “If you do, she’ll only go over to Barstows’, and it would be worse than ever. I don’t care–I’ll show them both I don’t care! As for Spencer coming back to me, do you think I want her leavings? He’s welcome to go.”

“He’s only just fooled by her pretty face,” persisted Mrs. Bowes in a clumsy effort at consolation. “She’s just turning his head, the hussy, and he isn’t really in his proper senses. You’ll see, he’ll be ashamed of himself when he comes to them again. He knows very well in his heart that you’re worth ten girls like her.”

Estella faced around.

“Aunt,” she said desperately, “you mean well, I know, but you’re killing me! I can’t stand it. For pity’s sake, don’t say another word to me about this, no matter what happens. And don’t keep looking at me as if I were a martyr! She watches us and it would please her to think I cared. I don’t–and I mean she shall see I don’t. I guess I’m well rid of a fellow as fickle as he is, and I’ve sense enough to know it.”

She went upstairs then, tearing off her turquoise engagement ring as she climbed the steps. All sorts of wild ideas flashed through her head. She would go down and confront Vivienne LeMar–she would rush off and find Spencer and throw his ring at him, no matter where he was–she would go away where no one would ever see her again. Why couldn’t she die? Was it possible people could suffer like this and yet go on living?

“I don’t care–I don’t care!” she moaned, telling the lie aloud to herself, as if she hoped that by this means she would come to believe it.

When twilight came she went out to the front steps and leaned her aching head against the honeysuckle trellis. The sun had just set and the whole world swam in dusky golden light. The wonderful beauty frightened her. She felt like a blot on it.

While she stood there, a buggy came driving up the lane and wheeled about at the steps. In it was Spencer Morgan.

Estella saw him and, in spite of the maddening throb of hope that seemed suddenly to transfigure the world for her, her pride rose in arms. Had Spencer come the night before, he would have found her loving and humble. Even now, had she but been sure that he had come to see her, she would have unbent. But was it the other? The torturing doubt stung her to the quick.

She waited, stubbornly resolved that she would not speak first. It was not in her place. Spencer Morgan flicked his horse sharply with his whip. He dared not look at Estella, but he felt her uncompromising attitude. He was miserably ashamed of himself, and he felt angry at Estella for his shame.

“Do you care to come for a drive?” he asked awkwardly, with a covert glance at the parlour windows.

Estella caught the glance and her jealous perception instantly divined its true significance. Her heart died within her. She did not care what she said.

“Oh,” she cried with a toss of her head, “it’s not me you want–it’s Miss LeMar, isn’t it? She’s away at the shore. You’ll find her there, I dare say.”