He had gone pale, and was frowning at the sheet of paper which
trembled in his hand.
'No bad news, I hope?' Biffen ventured to say.
Whelpdale let himself sink into a chair.
'Now if this isn't too bad!' he exclaimed in a thick voice. 'If
this isn't monstrously unkind! I never heard anything so gross as
this--never!'
The two waited, trying not to smile.
'She writes--that she has met an old lover--in Birmingham--that
it was with him she had quarrelled-not with her father at all--
that she ran away to annoy him and frighten him--that she has
made it up again, and they're going to be married!'
He let the sheet fall, and looked so utterly woebegone that his
friends at once exerted themselves to offer such consolation as
the case admitted of. Reardon thought better of Whelpdale for
this emotion; he had not believed him capable of it.
'It isn't a case of vulgar cheating!' cried the forsaken one
presently. 'Don't go away thinking that. She writes in real
distress and penitence--she does indeed. Oh, the devil! Why did I
let her go to Birmingham? A fortnight more, and I should have had
her safe.
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