“I forbid you, Margaret!” cries she violently.  “Be silent!  I tell you I will not have myself either excused or explained.  Do not arrange a defence for me.  I will not be defended.”

“Let me explain, my dearest—­do let me explain,” entreats Margaret earnestly.  “It is for your good.”

“It is not; and even if it were, I should not allow it.  Besides, there is nothing to explain.  I was only bidding good-bye to Tom!” She pauses, and tears spring to her eyes—­tears half angry, half remorseful.  “Oh, poor Tom!” cries she. "He loves me!” Her breast rises and falls rapidly, and, after a struggle with herself, she bursts out crying.  “He was my one friend, I think!  And I was so unkind to him!  I told him I should never ask him here again!  I was abominable to him!  And all for nothing—­nothing at all.  Only because he said he—­loved me!"

She is sobbing passionately now.

“Tita,” says Rylton; he takes a step towards her.

“As for you,” cries she wildly, putting up her hands as if to keep him far from her, “I wish I had been born a beggar. Then,” slowly, and in a voice vibrating with scorn—­“then I should not have been chosen by you!"

The cut goes home.  For a second Rylton winces, then his fingers close even more tightly over the paper he is holding, and a cynical smile crosses his lips.

“You believe much in money,” says he.

“I have reason to do so,” coldly.  The strange smile on his lips has caught her attention, and has killed the more vehement form of her passion.  “It induced you to marry me!  Your mother told me so!”

“Did she?” He is smiling still.  “Well, all that is at an end.”  Something in his voice makes Margaret look quickly at him, and he flings the letter he has been crushing in his hand to her.  “Read that!” says he.

Margaret catches it, opens it hurriedly, and reads.  Her face grows very pale.  She looks up.

“You got it?”

“By the night mail, two hours ago.”

“What is it?” demands Tita imperiously.

She had taken no notice of his giving the letter to Margaret; but now she is sure that some mystery lies in it—­a mystery that has something to do with her.

Margaret regards her piteously.

“My dear—­I——­”

She breaks down, and looks now at Rylton as if reproaching him for having cast this task upon her shoulders.  Rylton shakes his head.

“From you—­it will be kinder,” says he.

"What is it?” asks Tita again, taking a step towards Margaret, and holding out her hand for the letter.

“Your money!” falters Margaret nervously.

“Yes—­yes!”

_ “It is all gone!"_

“Gone?”

“All!  There is nothing left,” says Margaret, pale as ashes.

“Gone!” Tita repeats the word once or twice, as a child might, trying to learn a new syllable; she seems a little stunned.  Then suddenly her whole face grows bright; it wakes into a new life as it were.  “Is it all gone?” asks she.