He looked at her, but did not take her hand.  “I cannot do it,” he said.  “I cannot bid you ‘God speed.’  You have ruined me, trampled upon me, destroyed me.  I am not angry with him,” and he pointed across the room to Harry Annesley; “nor with you; but only with myself.”  Then, without speaking a word to his aunt, he marched out of the room and left the house, closing the front-door after him with a loud noise, which testified to his anger.

“He has gone!” said Mrs. Mountjoy, with a tone of deep tragedy.

“It is better so,” said Florence.

“A man must take his chance in such warfare as this,” said Harry.  “There is something about Mountjoy Scarborough that, after all, I like.  I do not love Augustus, but, with certain faults, Mountjoy is a good fellow.”

“He is the head of our family,” said Mrs. Mountjoy, “and is the owner of Tretton.”

“That is nothing to do with it,” said Florence.

“It has much to do with it,” said her mother, “though you would never listen to me.  I had set my heart upon it, but you have determined to thwart me.  And yet there was a time when you preferred him to every one else.”

“Never!” said Florence, with energy.

“Yes, you did,—­before Mr. Annesley here came in the way.”

“It was before I came, at any rate,” said Harry.

“I was young, and I did not wish to be disobedient.  But I never loved him, and I never told him so.  Now it is out of the question.”

“He will never come back again,” said Mrs. Mountjoy, mournfully.

“I should be very glad to see him back when I and Florence are man and wife.  I don’t care how soon we should see him.”

“No; he will never come back,” said Florence,—­“not as he came to-day.  That trouble is at last over, mamma.”

“And my trouble is going to begin.”

“Why should there be any trouble?  Harry will not give you trouble;—­will you, Harry?”

“Never, I trust,” said Harry.

“He cannot understand,” said Mrs. Mountjoy; “he knows nothing of the desire and ambition of my life.  I had promised him my child, and my word to him is now broken.”

“He will have known, mamma, that you could not promise for me.  Now go, Harry, because we are flurried.  May I not ask him to come here to-night and to drink tea with us?” This she said, addressing her mother in a tone of sweetest entreaty.  To this Mrs. Mountjoy unwillingly yielded, and then Harry also took his departure.

Florence was aware that she had gained much by the interview of the morning.  Even to her it began to appear unnecessary that she could keep Harry waiting three years.  She had spoken of postponing the time of her servitude and of preserving for herself the masterdom of her own condition.  But in that respect the truth of her own desires was well understood by them all.  She was anxious enough to submit to her new master, and she felt that the time was