Beatrice dismissed her maid, and then turned to her sister.
"What is it, Lily?" she asked. "Your face is deathly pale. What has happened?"
"Beatrice," said Lillian, "will you let me tell your secret to Lionel Dacre? It will be quite sacred with him."
"To Lionel Dacre!" she cried. "No, a thousand times over! How can you ask me, Lily? He is Lord Airlie's friend and could not keep it from him. Why do you ask me such an extraordinary question?"
"He saw me tonight," she replied; "he was out in the grounds, and saw me speaking to Hugh Fernely."
"Have you told him anything?" she asked; and for a moment Beatrice looked despairing.
"Not a word," said Lily. "How could I, when you trusted me?"
"That is right," returned her sister, a look of relief coming over her face; "his opinion does not matter much. What did he say?"
"He thought I had been to meet some one I knew," replied Lillian, her face growing crimson with shame.
"And was dreadfully shocked, no doubt," supplemented Beatrice. "Well, never mind, darling. I am very sorry it happened, but it will not matter. I am so near freedom and happiness, I can not grieve over it. He will not surely tell? He is too honorable for that."