What had hitherto been the result of this the reader knows,—­and Tregear knew also.  He had taken the privilege given to him, and had made so complete a use of it that he had in truth transferred his heart as well as his allegiance.  Where is the young man who cannot do so;—­how few are there who do not do so when their first passion has come on them at one-and-twenty?  And he had thought that she would do the same.  But gradually he found that she had not done so, did not do so, could not do so!  When she first heard of Lady Mary she had not reprimanded him,—­but she could not keep herself from showing the bitterness of her disappointment.  Though she would still boast of her own strength and of her own purpose, yet it was too clear to him that she was wounded and very sore.  She would have liked him to remain single at any rate till she herself had married.  But the permission had hardly been given before he availed himself of it.  And then he talked to her not only of the brilliancy of his prospects,—­which she would have forgiven,—­but of his love—­his love!

Then she had refused one offer after another, and he had known it all.  There was nothing in which she was concerned that she did not tell him.  Then young Silverbridge had come across her, and she had determined that he should be her husband.  She had been nearly successful,—­so nearly that at moments she felt sure of success.  But the prize had slipped from her through her own fault.  She knew well enough that it was her own fault.  When a girl submits to play such a game as that, she could not stand on too nice scruples.  She had told herself this many a time since;—­but the prize was gone.

All this Tregear knew, and knowing it almost dreaded the coming interview.  He could not without actual cruelty have avoided her.  Had he done so before he could not have continued to do so now, when she was left alone in the world.  Her father had not been much to her, but still his presence had enabled her to put herself before the world as being somebody.  Now she would be almost nobody.  And she had lost her rich prize, while he,—­out of the same treasury as it were,—­had won his!

The door opened to him by the same old woman, and he was shown, at a funereal pace, up into the drawing-room which he had known so well.  He was told that Lady Mabel would be down to him directly.  As he looked about him he could see that already had been commenced that work of division of spoil which is sure to follow the death of most of us.  Things were already gone which used to be familiar to his eyes, and the room, though not dismantled, had been deprived of many of its little prettiness and was ugly.