Mrs. Walker gave her a pitying look. "Nor do I, now that I have seen you, my dear. I don't like your father--I never did, and I would rather have died than have seen George marrying his daughter. Your looks and nature have made me change my mind. There is nothing of your father about you. Had I seen you before----" Mrs. Walker broke off and shook her stately head, "but it is too late. George will not renew the engagement." "Oh, I can't believe that," cried the girl weeping and trembling. "Strange," muttered the elder woman, "you have been quite a heroine in clearing George's character, for which I am greatly obliged to you. Yet here you are crying like a schoolgirl." "I love him so much: I love him so deeply." "My poor child, it is the fate of women to have their hearts broken. I do not know why George still refuses to renew the engagement in the face of your letter, but he does. Here," Mrs. Walker took an envelope out of her bag and handed it to the shaking girl, "you can read his decision in his own handwriting. He asked me to give you this." With great delicacy she turned away her head, while Lesbia tore open the envelope with shaking hands. There were only a few lines, but these intimated plainly that George had accepted his dismissal, and would not seek to renew the engagement. "I love you still, my dearest," wrote Walker in conclusion, "but Fate wills that we must part for ever." Then there were a few tender words, and the epistle ended abruptly, as though the writer could not trust his emotions. Lesbia read the lines, folded the letter and replaced it in the envelope which she put into her pocket. Her eyes were dry now, and her white face was flushed with colour. With a deep sigh she touched the elder woman on the shoulder, "I understand," she said calmly. Mrs. Walker, whose sympathies--remarkably in so cold a woman--were now entirely with Lesbia, grew snappy to conceal her emotion. "I don't," she said acidly, "and when George returns to Medmenham I shall have an explanation with him. He's a fool." "No," said Lesbia, her face growing even a deeper red. "Can't you see that George is only acting in this way to save me?" "To save you from what?" asked Mrs. Walker shortly. "I don't know. I can't say," Lesbia spoke more to herself than to her visitor. "But I feel sure that George wrote this letter as I wrote my first one to him. I wrote to save him, and now he refuses to renew our engagement to save me. I don't understand, still--oh I am sure that everything will come right. I trust in God." "You do well to do so," said Mrs. Walker gravely, "for only He can help you, my child. I am thoroughly puzzled, and know not what to say." "Say nothing: do nothing," cried Lesbia eagerly. "Things will work out to a happy end in their due time." "You are sure of that?" "I am certain."