She
had been touched by his misery, even against her better judgment; and she had
intended to confess it all to Stephen sometime, telling him that she should
never again accept attentions from a stranger, lest a tragedy like this should
happen twice in a lifetime.
She had imagined that Stephen would be his large-minded, great-hearted,
magnanimous self, and beg her to forget this fascinating will-o'-the-wisp by
resting in his deeper, serener love. She had meant to be contrite and
faithful, praying nightly that poor Claude might live down his present
anguish, of which she had been the innocent cause.
Instead, what had happened? She had been put altogether in the wrong. Stephen
had almost cast her off, and that, too, without argument. He had given her her
liberty before she had asked for it, taking it for granted, without question,
that she desired to be rid of him. Instead of comforting her in her remorse,
or sympathizing with her for so nobly refusing to shine in Claude's larger
world of Boston, Stephen had assumed that she was disloyal in every
particular.
And pray how was she to cope with such a disagreeable and complicated
situation?
It would not be long before the gossips rolled under their tongues the
delicious morsel of a broken engagement, and sooner or later she must brave
the displeasure of her grandmother.
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