When he took it from her his face flushed, for he knew the hand.
"It is from a lady," she repeated.
"It is on business," he replied, coldly, putting the envelope aside; and, to his intense delight, Lady Marion forgot it.
He was to go and see her. It was wrong to be so pleased, he knew, but he did not even try to hide his delight over it.
When should he go? He should count the hours—he could not wait longer than to-morrow. Would she be willing; or would she not? How long the hours seemed, yet they passed, and once more he was at the Cedars.
CHAPTER XLII.
BECOMING SUSPICIOUS.
So they made the second great mistake of their lives. These two, who had been married lovers, fancied they could be friends. If it had not been so sad and so pitiful, it would have been amusing to have heard the conditions of that friendship—they were as numerous as the preliminaries of an article of peace. They made all arrangements; their friendship was to be of the purest and most platonic nature; there was to be nothing said which would remind them of the past; he was to shake hands with her when he came and when he went; he might pay her a visit twice or three times a week; if they met, they were to be on friendly terms; they would discuss art, literature, and music—anything and everything except their own story; they were to take an interest in each other's lives and fortunes.
"I shall take such a pride in your career, Leone," said Lord Chandos, in all good faith; "it will be the dearest part of my life."