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 “Not for me?… Not to keep me?”

“No….” He paused. “I know—I always knew—it—it was impossible.”

Suddenly she pushed Angus from her. “Don’t touch me…. Don’t come near me…. You have your choice—me or that! Send him away and I’ll—forget him…. But I won’t have people see him, know he is the father of the man I am going to marry…. That man or me!”

“Lydia!”

“If he stays—never come near me again.”

“I—I can’t send him away.”

“Not for me?”

“Not—even to keep you,” he said so low she could scarcely hear him.

She stood for a moment in the midst of the shattered fragments of her happiness, stood tense, furious, broken, despairing. Then, out of her pain came cruelty. She pointed to the gate. “Go, then—and take your family with you,” she said.

“Lydia!”

She turned from him, but not so quickly but that he could see the repulsion in her eyes. “Go,” she said, “you have chosen.”

Angus stood a moment, waiting, hoping for a relenting word, for a backward glance which would give him hope. She did not turn.