'I went at the appointed time. You did not come, but I saw you _elsewhere_ in the arms of your cousin, who doubtless has been hereabout for some time past, unknown to me. _Those were no cousinly kisses you gave him_. God may forgive your falsehood, but I never will! The room seemed to swim round her as she read and re-read the lines like one in a dream. As she did so for the second time and took in the whole situation, a cry almost escaped her. Then she heard some farewells hastily exchanged on the terrace, and the sound of wheels on gravel as the departing waggonette swept Hammersley away to the railway station, and no power or chance of explanation was left her. The false light through which he--so brave, so true and honourable--must now view her tortured and humiliated her, and unmerited shame, mingled with just anger, burned in her heart. And Shafto had brought all this about! Oh for language to describe her loathing of him! His was the mistake--the crime to be explained; but would it ever be explained? And she dared not complain to Lord or Lady Fettercairn, who openly abetted Shafto's avaricious aspirations as regarded herself. She rushed away to her own room, lighted candles, and locked herself in. She sat down by the dressing-table; was that wan face reflected in the mirror hers? She leaned her elbows on the former, with her face in her hands, and sat there sobbing heavily in grief and rage without ever sighing, though her heart felt full to bursting. She pleaded a headache as an excuse for non-appearance at dinner, and Lord and Lady Fettercairn exchanged a silent glance of mutual intelligence and annoyance, not unmingled, perhaps, with satisfaction. Finella sat in her room as if turned to stone; at last she heard the stable clock strike midnight, and mechanically she proceeded to undress without summoning her maid. A rosebud was in the rich cream-tinted lace about her pretty neck. _He_ had given it to her but that morning, as they lingered on the terrace, and with haggard eyes she looked at it, kissed it, and put it in her white bosom. This morning she was with him--her lover, her affianced husband--her own--and he was hers--all to each other in the world--and now! 'He hates me, most probably,' she murmured.