It became evident, as the days went by, that Mr. Langdon was hopelessly offended. He did not come to the house or write. Esther was both glad and troubled. Relieved of his constant supervision and criticisms she drew a long breath, and knew, as she had not before, that whatever heart she might possess was not in his keeping. She lived in constant dread that he would return to her after he had punished her sufficiently. And yet his remaining away brought her into trouble with her aunt and cousin; they were already questioning and harassing her beyond endurance. At last, when her aunt wrote Mr. Langdon demanding an explanation, he sent a brief note, saying the engagement between himself and Miss Marlowe was at an end. If she wished for reasons he would refer her to her niece. Then the storm burst in all its fury. The tongues of mother and daughter were let loose upon her. "Now you shall tell me just what you have done," declared her aunt. "I will not have a gentleman like Mr. Langdon insulted in my own house." When the story was told, the case was no better for Esther. The rage and disappointment of aunt and cousin knew no bounds. "Esther, you are a fool!" said her aunt. "She's a contemptible little minx!" said Miss Sophy. "And I would shut her up and feed her on bread and water until she apologizes." "I shall never do that," said Esther firmly. "I told him some time before that I should be occupied on Christmas morning, and he had no right to try to force me to alter my plans. The apology must come from him. I have done no wrong." "Just hear the stupid little simpleton! He apologize to her! The idea! To think she should dare to go contrary to his wishes, and run the risk of losing him, and all for the sake of amusing a few old women!" "Do you know," Sophy said, turning fiercely to Esther, "what you have done? Or haven't you brains enough to take it in? Mr. Langdon will be the richest man in the city when his father dies, and you have lost him, probably." "I don't care for money," Esther said dreamily, her eyes out of the window, following a fleecy cloud that was sailing by, and thinking what she dare not speak, that it was far better to be able to pray as that young doctor did, than to have great riches. "You don't care for money!" screamed her aunt. "Indeed! You will find out whether you care for it when you are left alone in the world without a penny, as you probably will be. Go to your room, do! And stay there out of my sight. You are too exasperating to be tolerated."