Walter soothed and coaxed; but Dolores stood firm. Like a rock in
the sea, no assault could move her. As things stood at present,
she cried, they were no longer engaged. After she had seen her
mother and talked it all over, she would write to him once more,
and tell him what she thought of it.
And, crimson to the finger-tips with shame and modesty, she rushed
from his presence up to her own dark bed-room.
XXI.
Next morning early, Dolly left Combe Neville on her way to London.
When she reached the station, Walter was on the platform with a
bunch of white roses. He handed them to her deferentially as she
took her seat in the third-class carriage; and so sobered was Dolly
by this great misfortune that she forgot even to feel a passing
pang of shame that Walter should see her travel in that humble
fashion. "Remember," he whispered in her ear, as the train steamed
out, "we are still engaged; I hold you to your promise."
And Dolly, blushing maidenly shame and distress, shook her head
decisively. "Not now," she answered.
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