“If you must know all the truth about it,” said Arabella, “the horse is my horse, and not Lord Rufford’s.  And as he is the only horse I have got, and as he’s the dearest horse in all the world, you must excuse my being a little sorry about him.  Poor Jack!” After that the breakfast was eaten and everybody in the room believed the story of the horse’s lameness—­except Lady Augustus.

When breakfast and the loitering after breakfast were well over, so that she could escape without exciting any notice, she made her way up to her bedroom.  In a few minutes,—­so that again there should be nothing noticeable,—­her mother followed her.  But her door was locked.  “It is I, Arabella,” said her mother.

“You can’t come in at present, I am busy.”

“But Arabella.”

“You can’t come in at present, mamma.”  Then Lady Augustus slowly glided away to her own room and there waited for tidings.

The whole form of the girl’s face was altered when she was alone.  Her features in themselves were not lovely.  Her cheeks and chin were heavy.  Her brow was too low, and her upper lip too long.  Her nose and teeth were good, and would have been very handsome had they belonged to a man.  Her complexion had always been good till it had been injured by being improved,—­and so was the carriage of her head and the outside lines of her bust and figure, and her large eyes, though never soft, could be bright and sparkle.  Skill had done much for her and continued effort almost more.  But now the effort was dropped and that which skill had done turned against her.  She was haggard, lumpy, and almost hideous in her bewildered grief.

Had there been a word of weakness in the short letter she might have founded upon it some hope.  It did not occur to her that he had had the letter written for him, and she was astonished at its curt strength.  How could he dare to say that she had mistaken him?  Had she not lain in his arms while he embraced her?  How could he have found the courage to say that he had had no thought of marriage when he had declared to her that he loved her?  She must have known that she had hunted him as a fox is hunted;—­and yet she believed that she was being cruelly ill-used.  For a time all that dependence on Lord Mistletoe and her uncle deserted her.  What effect could they have on a man who would write such a letter as that?  Had she known that the words were the words of his brother-in-law, even that would have given her some hope.

But what should she do?  Whatever steps she took she must take at once.  And she must tell her mother.  Her mother’s help would be necessary to her now in whatever direction she might turn her mind.  She almost thought that she would abandon him without another word.  She had been strong in her reliance on family aid till the time for invoking it had come; but now she believed that it would be useless.  Could it be that such a man as this would be driven into marriage by the interference of Lord Mistletoe!  She would much like to bring down some punishment on his head; but in doing so she would cut all other ground from under her own feet.  There were still open to her Patagonia and the Paragon.