"What for?" asked Dolly languidly.
"Because—" and she lowered her voice,—"Mr. Edred Claughton will be so disappointed if he cannot see you once more before he goes."
If Dorothea had any doubts remaining, the glow which leapt to Dolly's white face was enough to do away with them.
"He and I feel so guilty about this week," Dorothea went on. "It was all our fault,—your being laid up, I mean. If we had not both been so stupidly full of what we were talking about, we should have had our wits about us, and there need have been no collision."
"It can't be helped."
"I almost think you would forgive us both, if you knew what it was that interested us so much. Guess! What do you think it could be?"
"I don't know."
"It was—Dolly, of course. What else could be so engrossing?"
Dolly's cheeks became brighter still.
"I don't think I ought to say much more. I would not say so much to any one except you. But—I do know that he is longing to see you before he goes; and I thought—if you could get down to the study, that might be the best way. And, Dolly—" very softly—"darling, don't be too cold. He has been so hopeless,—and I don't think he has much pluck."