Gay turned aside, to hide the tears that rushed to her eyes at the thought of all she had thrown away, and at that moment the door opened to admit Lossie, who was deathly pale, waiting with ill-disguised impatience for Rensslaer to make his farewells, and depart. Left together, the two girls faced each other, but it was Lossie who spoke first. "It isn't true?" "What is not true?" "That Carlton asked you last night, that you said 'Yes'--Oh! I saw it in his eyes--in yours--" "It is true." "Oh, my God!" cried Lossie, and beat her hands together. "You are doing a great wrong to yourself and Chris--ruining your own life, and breaking two men's hearts--you and Carlton are utterly unsuited to each other--and all for a bit of temper--because Chris paid more attention to the horses at the Show, than he did to you!" "Well, it's done," said Gay, voice and eyes dull, "and it can't be undone." "But it can! Do you suppose Carlton will take what has been flung to him in a moment of pique--like a bone to a dog? Doesn't he deserve to be loved just as much--and more--than Chris does? Oh! he could love a million times better--you have never troubled to sound the depths of his heart--and you are committing a cruel wrong--a crime even--if you go to him, knowing that you love Chris!" "Come to my den," said Gay sharply. "Carlton may be here at any moment, and must not find us quarrelling over him," and she led the way, followed hastily by a woman who had lost all regard for appearances, and who in her godless selfishness recognised no rights but those of her passions. "It is not a matter for your decision or mine," said Gay, when the door was shut, "but for Carlton. If he holds me to my promise, I shall keep it." "But you'll tell him that you love Chris?" cried Lossie eagerly. Gay shook her head. She was very angry with Chris, and his playing the laggard that morning, was the finishing stroke to his utter inconsiderateness and folly. She deeply resented his having spoken to Rensslaer first, accepting his offer, and thereby taking it for granted that she was ready to fall into his arms--Gay forgot that she had given him no chance of doing so, as she had left the building before the performance was over. With a sudden womanly comprehension, born of her own pain, she turned to her cousin, no radiant apparition as of yesterday, but trembling, haggard, dishevelled almost in her excitement and agony, yet more beautiful than ever in that abandonment. "I wish he loved you, Lossie," cried Gay breathlessly. "I do wish it with all my heart, and it is quite true what you say--that you are much better suited to him than I am." "Give me the chance," cried Lossie, clasping her hands together in desperate entreaty. "He can't know how I love, how I _adore_ him; if he did, and that just as I love him, you love Chris, he couldn't help loving _me_."