w," Enid answered coldly. Then she withdrew herself
from the General's encircling arm and rose to her feet. "You have not
told me yet, uncle," she went on, "what news you had from the doctor
this morning."

"Oh, nothing fresh!" said the General, in rather a guilty tone; and
then, as she pressed him, he explained further. "You see, my dear child,
we thought that this Miss West ought to go away, because none of us can
go to see Hubert while she is there--if for no other reason, because she
is that man's daughter; and I wrote to the doctor to inquire whether
Hubert could not do without her now; and he says, No--that there would
be danger of a relapse if she should go."

"Then of course you will say that she must be asked to stay until Hubert
is better, uncle."

"Certainly."

"Do you think so, my dear?"

"But it is naturally very painful to you, and to all of us, to think
that Hubert's recovery is dependent on that girl. I call it positively
degrading!" cried the General, crumpling up his papers, and rising from
his seat in a sudden fury.

"It is painful--yes," said Enid, with a heavy sigh; "but I suppose that
it cannot be helped;" and she turned away, so that he might not see the
quivering of her lip or the tear that rolled down her pale cheeks as she
said the words.

She went out into the conservatory and sat down amongst the flowers. She
had been too proud to show the General how much she was hurt; but, as a
matter of fact, she was very deeply wounded by what she heard. Her
affections were not bruised--she had never cared for Hubert so little in
her life; but her pride had received a tremendous blow. Even if he had
only "flirted" with Cynthia West, as the General had suggested, the
flirtation was an insult to the girl whom he had asked in marriage.
Indeed it seemed worse to Enid than a _grande passion_ would have
seemed; for her readings in poetry and fiction had taught her that a
genuine and passionate love sometimes caused people to forget the claims
of duty and the bonds of a previous affection. But the General had not
seemed to think that anything of this kind existed; although the fact
that Hubert's delirium could not be quieted except in Cynthia's presence
showed, even to Enid's innocent eyes, that some strong sympathy, some
great mutual attraction, united them. If it were so, Enid asked herself,
could she blame him? What had she herself done? Had she not given her
heart away to Maurice Evandale, although