I wanted to face this terrible blow alone, to realize the possibility that instead of being Sir Edgar Trevelyan, of Crown Anstey, wealthy, honored and powerful, I was Edgar Trevelyan, poor, homeless and penniless.
Could it be possible that after this life of ease, luxury and happiness, I was to fall back into the old position--hard, monotonous labor, with eighty pounds per annum?
It seemed too hard.

Do not think any the worse of me, reader, if I own that the tears came into my eyes.

It was bitterly hard.
Without warning Coralie entered the room.

It must have been a triumph to her to see the tears in my eyes.

She stood at some little distance from me.
"Edgar," she asked, "do you hate me ?" "No! I am too just to hate you for claiming what is your own.