'The man had not proposed, had he?'
'No; the actual proposal hung fire, but Belle thought it was a settled
thing all the same. Everybody talked to her as if she were engaged to
Smithson, and those poor, ignorant vicarage girls used to write her long
letters of congratulation, envying her good fortune, speculating, about
what she would do when she was married. The girl was too open and candid
for London society--talked too much, "gave the view before she was sure
of her fox," Sir George said. All this silly talk came to Smithson's
ears, and one morning we read in the Post that Mr. Smithson had started
the day before for Algiers, where he was to stay at the house of the
English Consul, and hunt lions. We waited all day, hoping for some
letter of explanation, some friendly farewell which would mean _a
revoir_. But there was nothing, and then poor Belle gave way altogether.
She shut herself up in her room, and went out of one hysterical fit into
another. I never heard a girl sob so terribly. She was not fit to be
seen for a week, and then she went home to her father's parsonage in the
flat swampy country on the borders of Suffolk, and eat her heart, as
Byron calls it.
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