"My dear Miss--Erskine," he exclaimed, endeavouring to adapt himself to the new mood with but little success however, "you are too sensible altogether to indulge in heroics. I don't wish to appear harsh, and I am quite certain that you have your feelings like anyone else, but there are Miss Bolton's feelings also to be taken into consideration, and, though I greatly regret having myself to announce his dishonourable behaviour, she has been engaged to my son for some months past." Jill stared at him in dumb, unquestioning anguish. Engaged! Perhaps that had been the `something' he wished to communicate to her. He had never, given her any reason to suppose otherwise; it had only been her vanity that had led her to imagine what she had. "He has not behaved dishonourably," she answered with difficulty; "he has never made love to me. It was you who told me that he cared; I did not know." He looked surprised. "I am glad to learn that that is so," he said. "I had feared things had gone further. And now, my dear young lady, I must apologise for the intrusion, and will finish up this very unpleasant business as speedily as possible." He opened the cheque-book and took up a pen to write with. "You will allow me," he began; but Jill took the pen quickly and replaced it in the stand. She was white to the very lips, and trembled all over like a person with the ague. "Go," she said hoarsely, "before I say what I might regret all my life. My God! what have I done or said that you should take me for a thing like that? Go, please; oh! go away at once." CHAPTER SEVEN.