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 knew him; knew his will, the strength of his resolutions and his immovability from a position which he believed to be right. Nothing could help her now, nothing could give back to her the happiness she had thrown away. His mind was made up—he would not take her back into his heart…. His love for her was dead….

She opened the door, tottered out of the room, and hurried blindly toward great-aunt Margaret…. Her brain was in a turmoil, a confused mass of misunderstandings, miscomprehensions, vexed her. His words, save those relating to herself, she had not comprehended—his words of finding a family, of grandfathers and of wealth…. All she realized was that she stood rejected, was not to be taken back—would never be his wife as she had dreamed. She threw her arms about great-aunt Margaret’s neck and sobbed, openly and unashamed. “He won’t have me…. He’s sending me away… sending me away.”

“Huh,” great-aunt Margaret snorted. “What I expected. What any self-respecting man would do…. Sit down. I’ll see him now.”

She placed Lydia in a chair and went herself to Angus’s door which she opened without ceremony and entered without permission.

“Mr. Burke,” she said abruptly, “I’m Lydia’s great-aunt and I’ve come all the way from Paris