She hurried on briskly after this, but she was wondering all the time what he would say when he found out that they were really to be separated. He would rebel, she knew, and anathematize fate vehemently. But she knew the rest of them would regard it as rather a rich joke that chance should have thrown her into the hands of Miss MacDowlas. They had all so often laughed at Griffith's descriptions of her and her letters, given generally when he had been galled into a caustic mood by the arrival of one of the latter. Beaching Bloomsbury Place, Dolly found her lover there. He had dropped in on his way to his lodgings, and was awaiting her in a fever of expectation, having heard the news from Aimée. “What is this Aimée has been telling me?” he cried, the moment she entered the room. “You can't be in earnest, Doll! You can't leave home altogether, you know.” She tossed her muff on the table and sat down on one of the low chairs, with her feet on the fender. “I thought so until this morning,” she said, a trifle mournfully; “but it can't be helped. The fact is, it is all settled now. I am an engaged young person.” “Settled!” exclaimed Griffith, indignantly. “Engaged! Dolly, I did n't think you would have done it.” “I could n't help doing it,” said Dolly, her spirits by no means rising as she spoke. “How could I?” But he would not be consoled by any such cold comfort. He had regarded the possibility of her leaving the house altogether as something not likely to be thought of. Very naturally, he was of the opinion that Dolly was as absolute a necessity to every one else as she was to himself. What _should_ he do without her? How could he exist? It was an unreasoning insanity to talk about it. He was so roused by his subject indeed, that, neither of them being absolutely angelic in temperament, they wandered off into something very like a little quarrel about it,--he, goaded to lover-like madness by the idea that she could live without him; she, finding her low spirits culminate in a touch of anger at his hotheaded, affectionate obstinacy. “But it is not to be expected,” he broke out at last, without any reason whatever,--“it is not to be expected that you can contend against everything. You are tired of disappointment, and I don't blame you. I should be a selfish dolt if I did. If Gowan had been in my place he could have married you, and have given you a home of your own. I never shall be able to do that. But,” with great weakness and evidence of tribulation at the thought, “I didn't think you would be so cool about it, Dolly.” “Cool!” cried Dolly, waxing wroth and penitent both at once, as usual. “Who is cool? Not I, that is certain. I shall miss you every hour of my life, Griffith.” And the sad little shadow on her face was so real that he was pacified at once. “I am an unreasonable simpleton!” was his next remorseful outburst.