"Some one is coming,"
she said, "and we must say good-bye; and since you wish it, it is
Good-bye.' But I'm not a child, to change my fancies in a day, so
I won't promise to forget. And I think you have treated me very
badly, so neither will I promise to forgive. I had set my heart
on you, Gavan. You seemed to me--but there, it's no use talking.
I suppose I should be meek and mild, and--"
"But, Ellen--"
"No, don't interrupt me. It is the last talk together we shall
have. I suppose I can go governessing, or nursing, to the end of
the chapter. It seems a dreary outlook, doesn't it? Now go, and
remember that I do not forgive easily. I had built such castles,
Gavan, and now--" She slipped quietly from the room, and was gone.
Gavan Blake drove home, feeling a trifle uneasy. He had expected
some sort of outburst, but the curious way in which she had taken
it rather non-plussed him.
"She won't stick a knife in herself, I suppose," he mused. "Just
like her to do something unusual. Anyway, she has too much pride
to talk about it--and the affair had to come to an end sooner or
later."
And feeling that if not "on with the new love," he was, at any
rate, satisfactorily "off with the old," Blake drove his spanking
ponies off to Tarrong, while Ellen Harriott went about her household
work with a face as inscrutable and calm as though no stone had
ruffled the mill-pond of her existence.
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