As for those conversations about the fifteen hundred pounds,--of them she would say nothing.

When she reflected on what had taken place between herself and Captain Aylmer she was more resolved than ever that she would not touch any portion of that money,--or of any money that should come from him.

Nor would she tell her father anything of the marriage engagement which had been made on one day and unmade on the next.

Why should she add to his distress by showing him what good things might have been hers had she only had the wit to keep them?
No;--she would tell her father simply of the will, and then comfort him in his affliction as best she might.
As regarded her position with Captain Aylmer, the more she thought of it the more sure she became that everything was over in that quarter.
She had, indeed, told him that such need not necessarily be the case,--but this she had done in her desire at the moment to mitigate the apparent authoritativeness of her own decision, rather than with any idea of leaving the matter open for further consideration.

She was sure that Captain Aylmer would be glad of a means of escape, and that he would not again place himself in the jeopardy which the promise exacted from him by his aunt had made so nearly fatal to him.
And for herself, though she still loved the man,--so loved him that she lay back in the corner of her carriage weeping behind her veil as she thought of what she had lost,--still she would not take him, though he should again press his suit upon her with all the ardour at his command.