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 who carried the picture of that smile in their memories for years….

Instantly there was a chorus of excited cries, a clatter of astonished conversation, a pressing forward with congratulations. Lydia looked at the faces before her, searching for Angus. How would he receive the news? How would he take it? It would be a shock, a blow, and how would he bear it? He would bear it manfully, as a man should bear it—that was her proud thought. A strange thought to come at such a moment….

Angus, standing by Myrtle Cuyler’s side, heard Lydia’s announcement; his face became a mask, an impenetrable mask of dullness, unemotional, such a face as he had not worn for years. His eyes darkened and deepened, his hands shut once and opened. Then he breathed heavily, not a sigh, but a deep, tearing breath…. That was all.

“Oh, Angus, Angus….” Myrtle's voice came to him dimly, told him how she felt his suffering.

He turned to her gravely, unsmiling—startlingly emotionless, “I knew,” he said. “I told you she—was not—for me…. I knew.”

“It’s a shame,” said the loyal Myrtle. “Lydia Canfield ought to—I’d know how to choose between Malcolm Crane and you.”

“We—we mustn't hang back,” he said, and