Fletcher, for I don't. But I had to
assert my right to choose my own friends. He disputed it. And then we
parted. No one is going to interfere with my freedom."
"You were never truly in love with him, then?" said Mrs. St. Orme, regret
and relief struggling in her voice.
Hilary looked up with clear eyes.
"Oh, never, darling!" she said tranquilly. "Nor he with me. I don't know
what it means; do you? You can't--surely--be in love with the poor old
pater?"
She laughed at the idea and idly took up a paper lying at hand. Half a
minute later she uttered a sharp cry and looked up with flaming cheeks.
"How--how--dare he?" she cried, almost incoherent with angry
astonishment. "Sybil! For Heaven's sake! See!"
She thrust the paper upon her step-mother's knee and pointed with a
finger that shook uncontrollably at a brief announcement in the society
column.
"We are requested to state that the announcement in yesterday's issue
that the marriage arranged between Viscount Merrivale and Miss Hilary St.
Orme would not take place was erroneous. The marriage will take place, as
previously announced, towards the end of the season."
* * * * *
"What sublime assurance!" exclaimed Bertie St. Orme, lying on his back in
the luxurious punt which his sister was leisurely impelling up stream,
and laughing up at her flushed face. "This viscount of yours seems to
have plenty of decision of character, whatever else he may be lacking
in.
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