“I know that you will do whatever you have made up your mind to do,” said Lucian, desolately.
“And you will make the best of it, will you not?”
“The best or the worst of it does not rest with me. I can only accept it as inevitable.”
“Not at all. You can make the worst of it by behaving distantly to Cashel; or the best of it by being friendly with him.”
Lucian reddened and hesitated. She looked at him, mutely encouraging him to be generous.
“I had better tell you,” he said. “I have seen him since—since—” Lydia nodded. “I mistook his object in coming into my room as he did, unannounced. In fact, he almost forced his way in. Some words arose between us. At last he taunted me beyond endurance, and offered me—characteristically—twenty pounds to strike him. And I am sorry to say that I did so.”
“You did so! And what followed?”
“I should say rather that I meant to strike him; for he avoided me, or else I missed my aim. He only gave the money and went away, evidently with a high opinion of me. He left me with a very low one of myself.”
“What! He did not retaliate!” exclaimed Lydia, recovering her color, which had fled. “And you STRUCK him!” she added.
“He did not,” replied Lucian, passing by the reproach. “Probably he despised me too much.”