In a few minutes she turned to him again.  “I have been writing a note to Muriel, explaining things a little.  She doesn’t yet know that I am here; but it would be no good for her to join me, for I am only packing.  I shall leave as soon as I can get away.  And she too is going almost at once to Mrs. Langdale, I believe.  So we shall probably not meet again at present.  You will be seeing her this afternoon.  Will you give it to her?”

She held the letter out to him, but he made no move to take it.  His face was very pale, more sternly miserable than she had ever seen it.  “I think you had better post it,” he said.

She rose and looked at him attentively.  “Why, what’s the matter, Blake?” she said.

He did not answer, and she went on immediately, still with her eyes steadily uplifted.

“Do you know, Blake, I have been thinking all night, and I have made up my mind to have done with all this foolish sentimentality finally and for ever.  From to-day forward I enter upon the prosaic, middle-aged stage.  I was upset yesterday at the thought of losing you so soon.  It’s been a lovely summer, hasn’t it?” She stifled a sigh half uttered.  “Well, it’s over.  You have to go back to India, and we must just make the best of it.”

He made a sharp movement, but said nothing.  The next moment he dropped down heavily into a chair and sat bowed, his head in his hands.

Daisy stood looking down at him, and slowly her expression changed.  A very tender look came into her eyes, a look that made her seem older and at the same time more womanly.  Very quietly she sat down on the arm of his chair and laid her hand upon him, gently rubbing it to and fro.

“My own boy, don’t fret, don’t fret!” she said.  “You will be happier by-and-by.  I am sure of it.”

He took the little hand from his shoulder, and held it against his eyes.  At last after several seconds of silence he spoke.

“Daisy, I have broken my engagement.”

Daisy gave a great start.  A deep glow overspread her face, but it faded very swiftly, leaving her white to the lips.  “My dear Blake, why?” she whispered.

He answered her with his head down.  “It was Nick Ratcliffe’s doing.  He made me.”

“Made you, Blake!  What can you mean?”

Sullenly Grange made answer.  “He had got the whip-hand, and I couldn’t help myself.  He saw us on the shore together yesterday afternoon, made up his mind then and there that I was no suitable partner for Muriel, got me to go and dine with him, and told me so.”

“But Blake, how absurd!” Daisy spoke with a palpable effort.  “How—­how utterly unreasonable!  What made you give in to him?”

Grange would not tell her.  “I shouldn’t have done so,” he said moodily, “if he hadn’t given his word that he would never pester Muriel again.  She’s well rid of me anyhow.  He was right there.  She will probably see it in the same light.”