‘Lily, my dear, what is the matter?’
‘Oh! nothing, nothing, Claude,’ said she, quickly.
‘Nothing! no, that is not true. Tell me, Lily. You have been disconsolate ever since I came home, and I will not let it go on so. No answer? Then am I to suppose that these new pearlins are the cause of her sorrow? Come, Lily, be like yourself, and speak. More tears! Here, drink this water, be yourself again, or I shall be angry and vexed. Now then, that is right: make an effort, and tell me.’
‘There is nothing to tell,’ said Lily; ‘only you are very kind—I do not know what is the matter with me—only I have been very foolish of late—and everything makes me cry.’
‘My poor child, I knew you had not been well. They do not know how to take care of you, Lily, and I shall take you in hand. I am going to order the horses, and we will have a gallop over the Downs, and put a little colour into your cheeks.’
‘No, no, thank you, Claude, I cannot come, indeed I cannot, I have this work, which must be done to-day.’
‘At work at your finery instead of coming out! You must be altered, indeed, Lily.’
‘It is not for myself,’ said Lily, ‘but I promised Emily she should have it ready to wear to-morrow.’
‘Emily, oh? So she is making a slave of you?’
‘No, no, it was a voluntary promise. She does not care about it, only she would be disappointed, and I have promised.’