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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 363 pages of information about Colonel Quaritch, V.C..

Once more Ida’s face set like a flint.  “I am not your wife yet, Mr. Cossey,” she said; “when I am you will have a right to dictate to me as to whom I shall associate with.  At present you have no such right, and if it pleases me to associate with Colonel Quaritch, I shall do so.  If you disapprove of my conduct, the remedy is simple—­you can break off the engagement.”

He rose absolutely crushed, for Ida was by far the stronger of the two, and besides, his passion gave her an unfair advantage over him.  Without attempting a reply he held out his hand and said good-night, for he was afraid to venture on any demonstration of affection, adding that he would come to see her father in the morning.

She touched his outstretched hand with her fingers, and then fearing lest he should change his mind, promptly rang the bell.

In another minute the door had closed behind him and she was left alone.

CHAPTER XXIV

“GOOD-BYE, MY DEAR, GOOD-BYE!”

When Edward Cossey had gone, Ida rose and put her hands to her head.  So the blow had fallen, the deed was done, and she was engaged to be married to Edward Cossey.  And Harold Quaritch!  Well, there must be an end to that.  It was hard, too—­only a woman could know how hard.  Ida was not a person with a long record of love affairs.  Once, when she was twenty, she had received a proposal which she had refused, and that was all.  So it happened that when she became attached to Colonel Quaritch she had found her heart for the first time, and for a woman, somewhat late in life.  Consequently her feelings were all the more profound, and so indeed was her grief at being forced not only to put them away, but to give herself to another man who was not agreeable to her.  She was not a violent or ill-regulated woman like Mrs. Quest.  She looked facts in the face, recognised their meaning and bowed before their inexorable logic.  It seemed to her almost impossible that she could hope to avoid this marriage, and if that proved to be so, she might be relied upon to make the best of it.  Scandal would, under any circumstances, never find a word to say against Ida, for she was not a person who could attempt to console herself for an unhappy marriage.  But it was bitter, bitter as gall, to be thus forced to turn aside from her happiness—­for she well knew that with Harold Quaritch her life would be very happy—­and fit her shoulders to this heavy yoke.  Well, she had saved the place to her father, and also to her descendants, if she had any, and that was all that could be said.

She thought and thought, wishing in the bitterness of her heart that she had never been born to come to such a heavy day, till at last she could think no more.  The air of the room seemed to stifle her, though it was by no means overheated.  She went to the window and looked out.  It was a wild wet evening, and the wind drove the rain before it in sheets.  In the west the lurid rays of the sinking sun stained the clouds blood red, and broke in arrows of ominous light upon the driving storm.

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