Alas, she needed no answer to her question; her colour fled, her eyes brimmed with tears, nothing that she had heard had prepared her for the truth.
“We have been enjoying our drive,” said Sylvester nervously, “but I must not let him stay out till it gets chilly. Have you been here long, Miss Haredale?”
“Only since yesterday. We are at Hôtel—”
She faltered; and Lucian said, with something of his old abruptness,—
“Never mind me. I am sorry I look so bad, it frightens you. But people soon get used to it.”
“I was taken by surprise,” said Amethyst, with a great struggle for composure. “I hope you will soon look better.”
“My mother will call on Lady Haredale,” said Lucian punctiliously, but with wistful eyes.
Amethyst gave him her hand, as Sylvester made a decided movement, but, as he held it close for a moment, the contrast with the well-remembered grasp of his strong brown fingers broke her down completely, and she hurried away, half-blinded with tears. Lucian did not speak another word till the drive was over and he was back again on his couch. Then he whispered—
“Syl!”
“Yes—what is it?”