“And did he?” said Lucian.
“I suppose every Amelot must answer that question for himself,” said Sylvester.
“He never did, if there was a chance of getting the girl herself,” said Lucian. “Syl, when are you going to the Haredales’?”
“Well, I must ask after Una, in common politeness, and I’ll get in if I can. It’s twelve o’clock. I can go now. What will you do?”
“Wait.” He paused a moment, then said, rather piteously, “I don’t know why it should seem so hard, when yesterday I never thought I should see her again.”
“Poor old boy, did you think about her yesterday, before I came?”
“I always thought about her, except when I was thinking of something else,” said Lucian. “But now there’s nothing else to think of.”
“Well, I won’t leave you long in suspense, if I can help it,” said Syl, taking his hat, and going off. He was himself intensely eager to see Amethyst; must she not know, now, the confession that he had made to Una? She would know at what cost he brought Lucian’s message. Why it should seem harder to give her back to his friend, than to see her marry a man whom he detested, he could not tell, except that every day, every hour, increased his restless misery. He would be loyal to Lucian, and then he felt that he did not know what would become of him. There was never much difficulty in getting into Lady Haredale’s house, and he was at once admitted, and told that some of the ladies were at home.
As he came into the drawing-room he saw that, with better fortune than he could credit, Amethyst was there alone. She was sitting in a low chair with her hat on, and a parcel or two on the table near, as if she had just come in from doing some little errands. There was something dejected in her attitude, and, when she heard Sylvester’s name, she blushed intensely, while he was very pale.
“My sister has been doing too much, she is overtired, and will have to rest now,” she said, in answer to his stammering inquiry for Una.