Lady Kingsland stood still, gazing at him in surprise.

“Who told you all this?” she asked.

“She who had the best right to know—­the slandered woman’s daughter.”

“Indeed—­indeed!” slowly and searchingly.  “You have been talking to her, then?  And your whole heart is really set on this matter, Everard?”

She came a step nearer; her voice softened; she laid one slender hand, with infinite tenderness, on his shoulder.

“What does it matter?” he retorted, impatiently.  “For Heaven’s sake, let me alone, mother!”

“My boy, if you really love this wild girl so much, if your whole heart is set on her, I must withdraw my objections.  I can refuse my darling nothing.  Woo Harriet Hunsden, wed her, and bring her here.  I will try and receive her kindly for your sake.”

Sir Everard Kingsland shook off the fair, white, caressing hand, and rose to his feet, with a harsh, strident laugh.  “You are very good, my mother, but it is a little too late.  Miss Hunsden did me the honor to refuse me yesterday.”

“Refuse you?”

“Even so—­incredible as it sounds!  You see this little barbarian is not so keenly alive to the magnificent honor of an alliance with the house of Kingsland as some others are, and she said No plumply when I asked her to be my wife.”

Again that harsh, jarring laugh rang out, and with the last word he strode from the room, closing the door with an emphatic bang.

Lady Kingsland sunk down in the nearest chair, perfectly overcome.  Sybilla Silver raised her tea-cup, and hid a malicious smile there.

“Refused him!” my lady murmured, helplessly.  “Mildred, did you hear what he said?”

“Yes, mamma,” Mildred replied, in distress.  “She is a very proud girl—­Harriet Hunsden.”

“Proud!  Good heavens!” my lady sprung to her feet, goaded by the word.  “The wretched little pauper! the uneducated, uncivilized, horrible little wretch!  What business has she with pride—­with nothing under the sun to be proud of?  Refuse my son!  Oh, she must be mad, or a fool, or both!  I will never forgive her as long as I live; nor him, either, for asking her!”

With which my lady flung out of the apartment, in a towering rage, and went up to her room and fell into hysterics and the arms of her maid on the spot.

It was a day of distress at Kingsland Court—­gloom and despair reigned.  Lady Kingsland, shut up in her own apartments, would not be comforted—­and Sir Everard, busied with his preparations, was doggedly determined to carry out his designs.  Sybilla was the only one who enjoyed the situation.

As she stood in the front portico, early in the afternoon, humming an opera tune, a servant wearing the Hunsden livery rode up to her and delivered a twisted note.

“For Sir Everard,” said the man, and rode away.

Miss Silver took it, looked at it with one of her curious little smiles, thought a moment, turned, and carried it straight to my lady.  My lady examined it with angry eyes.