“What is to be done, Lilias?” he said in a low voice.
Her hand stole into his sympathizingly.
“Dear Trafford!” she murmured.
“He does not seem to understand in the very least,” said Trafford.
“No,” she said. “Last week he sent up to town for a suite of pearls—it was my birthday; and I haven’t thanked you yet, Trafford, for my beautiful bracelet. See, I have it on. Didn’t you notice it? Let me give you a kiss for it! It was a magnificent suite; they must have cost—oh! I can’t tell how much—and I had to send them back, and make some excuse to the jewelers.”
“I am sorry you did that, Lilias,” he said, biting his lip. “Surely we could have afforded a trifling gift to you who do so much for us.”
“No, dear,” she said, gravely. “It is cowardly to shrink from the truth—we can not afford it. Mr. Helby often makes some difficulty about the money for even the household expenses. You do not think me heartless for speaking like this, Trafford, dear? But I want you to understand that uncle must not be encouraged in all these wild schemes.”
“I know—I know!” he said.
She said no more, but went softly to the piano, and played the Chopin which he loved, and which she knew would soothe him. She had understood him ever since they had been children together, and her comprehension of all his moods was quickened by her sisterly love. While she was playing, a footman entered to say that Mr. Helby was in the library. As Trafford left the room he bent over her, and whispered:
“Thank you, Lilias!”