Constance stood staring at her, mute and motionless with astonishment, so utterly unexpected was this tempest of anger, and so strange in one who had seemed incapable of any such violent feeling. “Very well, Fan, I shall leave you if you wish it,” she said at length with some dignity, but in a pained voice. “I did not understand this outburst at first. I had almost lost sight of the fact that I am in a sense to blame for your misfortune. I regret it very bitterly, but that is no comfort to you, and it is only natural that you should begin to hate me now.” “I do not hate you, Constance,” said Fan, recovering her usual tone, but still speaking with a tremor in her voice. “Why do you say that?--it is a cruel thing to say. Do you not know that it is false? I shall never blame you for what has happened. You are not to blame. I have lost Mary, but she is not what you say. You do not know her--what right have you to call her bad names? I would go away this moment and never see you again rather than hear you talk in that way of her, much as I love you.” This speech explained the mystery, but it astonished her as much as the previous passionate outbreak. That the girl could be so just to her, so free from the least trace of bitterness against her for having indirectly caused that great unhappiness, and at the same time so keenly resent her sympathy, which she could not easily express without speaking indignantly of Miss Starbrow--this seemed so strange, so almost incongruous and contradictory, that if the case had not been so sad she would have burst into a laugh. As it was she only burst into tears, and threw her arms round the girl's neck. “Darling Fan,” she said, “I understand you now--at last; and shall say nothing to wound your feelings again. But I hope--with all my heart I hope that I shall one day meet this--meet Miss Starbrow, to have the satisfaction of telling her--” “Telling her what?” exclaimed Fan, the bright resentful red returning to her pale cheeks. “Of telling her what she has lost. That she never really knew you, and what an affection you had for her.” There was no comfort in this to Fan. Her loss--the thought that she would never see Mary again--surged back to her heart, and turning away, she went back to her seat and covered her face again from the other's sight. CHAPTER XXV After making her peace with Fan, there remained for Constance the heavy task of informing her mother. She found her engaged with her needle in the dining-room. “Mother,” she began, “I have got something very unpleasant to tell you. Miss Starbrow has written to Fan, casting her off. She tells her to remain here until her year is up, and then to take care of herself, as she, Miss Starbrow, will have nothing more to do with her. It is a cold, heartless letter; and what poor Fan is to do I don't know.”