"Pray don't distress yourself," she said, with exquisitely fine
scorn. "You may keep him--for me." Had she been wounded instead
of mortified she could not have used the words; but Fitzpiers's
hold upon her heart was slight.
They parted thus and there, and Grace went moodily homeward.
Passing Marty's cottage she observed through the window that the
girl was writing instead of chopping as usual, and wondered what
her correspondence could be. Directly afterwards she met people
in search of her, and reached the house to find all in serious
alarm. She soon explained that she had lost her way, and her
general depression was attributed to exhaustion on that account.
Could she have known what Marty was writing she would have been
surprised.
The rumor which agitated the other folk of Hintock had reached the
young girl, and she was penning a letter to Fitzpiers, to tell him
that Mrs. Charmond wore her hair. It was poor Marty's only card,
and she played it, knowing nothing of fashion, and thinking her
revelation a fatal one for a lover.
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