He had grown hard, and cold, and indifferent.

He had scarcely tried to conceal the fact that the girl's companionship bored and wearied him.

He had yawned in her face, and had abandoned himself to moody abstraction when accident obliged him to be alone with her.

Miss Paget's pride had been equal to the occasion.

Mary Anne Kepp would have dissolved into tears at the first unkind word from the lips of her beloved; but Mary Anne Kepp's daughter, with the blood of the Cromie Pagets in her veins, was quite a different person.