I guess I 'm well rid of a fellow as fickle as he is , and I 've sense enough to know it . '' She went upstairs then , tearing off her turquoise engagement ring as she climbed the steps . All sorts of wild ideas flashed through her head . She would go down and confront Vivienne LeMar -- she would rush off and find Spencer and throw his ring at him , no matter where he was -- she would go away where no one would ever see her again . Why could n't she die ? Was it possible people could suffer like this and yet go on living ? `` I do n't care -- I do n't care ! '' she moaned , telling the lie aloud to herself , as if she hoped that by this means she would come to believe it . When twilight came she went out to the front steps and leaned her aching head against the honeysuckle trellis . The sun had just set and the whole world swam in dusky golden light . The wonderful beauty frightened her . She felt like a blot on it . While she stood there , a buggy came driving up the lane and wheeled about at the steps . In it was Spencer Morgan . Estella saw him and , in spite of the maddening throb of hope that seemed suddenly to transfigure the world for her , her pride rose in arms . Had Spencer come the night before , he would have found her loving and humble . Even now , had she but been sure that he had come to see her , she would have unbent . But was it the other ? The torturing doubt stung her to the quick . She waited , stubbornly resolved that she would not speak first .
It was not XXXXX her place .
While against as at in like of that through to