The laugh floated up to Drake as he sat and finished his pipe, waiting
until the party should get clear away, and his lips tightened grimly.
Then he sighed and shrugged his shoulders, as he rose and went slowly up
the hill.

After all, Lucille had only acted as he had expected. As he had said,
she had engaged herself to Viscount Selbie, the heir to Angleford--not
to Viscount Selbie, whose nose had been put out of joint by his uncle's
marriage. He could not have expected a Lady Lucille Turfleigh to be
faithful to her troth under such changed circumstances. But her
desertion made him sore, if not actually unhappy. Indeed, he was rather
surprised to find that he was more wounded in pride than heart. It is
rather hurtful to one's vanity and self-esteem to be told by the woman
whom you thought loved you, that she finds it "impossible" to marry you
because you have lost your fortune or your once roseate prospects; and
though Drake was the least conceited of men, he was smarting under the
realization of his anticipations.

"She never loved me," he said bitterly. "Not one word of regret--real
regret. She would have felt and shown more if she had been parting with
a favorite horse or dog. God! what women this world makes of them! They
are all alike! There's not one of them can love for love's sake, who
cares for the man instead of the money. Not one, from the dairymaid to
the duchess! Thank Heaven! my disillusionment has come before, instead
of after, marriage. Yes, I've done with them. There is no girl alive, or
to be born, who can make me feel another pang."