He had checked his first movement of surprise, and stood silent, waiting for her to speak, while she paused a moment on the threshold, assailed by a rush of memories.
The scene was unchanged. She recognized the row of shelves from which he had taken down his La Bruyere, and the worn arm of the chair he had leaned against while she examined the precious volume. But then the wide September light had filled the room, making it seem a part of the outer world: now the shaded lamps and the warm hearth, detaching it from the gathering darkness of the street, gave it a sweeter touch of intimacy.
Becoming gradually aware of the surprise under Selden’s silence, Lily turned to him and said simply: “I came to tell you that I was sorry for the way we parted—for what I said to you that day at Mrs. Hatch’s.”
The words rose to her lips spontaneously. Even on her way up the stairs, she had not thought of preparing a pretext for her visit, but she now felt an intense longing to dispel the cloud of misunderstanding that hung between them.
Selden returned her look with a smile. “I was sorry too that we should have parted in that way; but I am not sure I didn’t bring it on myself. Luckily I had foreseen the risk I was taking——”
“So that you really didn’t care——?” broke from her with a flash of her old irony.
“So that I was prepared for the consequences,” he corrected good-humouredly. “But we’ll talk of all this later. Do come and sit by the fire. I can recommend that arm-chair, if you’ll let me put a cushion behind you.”
While he spoke she had moved slowly to the middle of the room, and paused near his writing-table, where the lamp, striking upward, cast exaggerated shadows on the pallor of her delicately-hollowed face.
“You look tired—do sit down,” he repeated gently.
She did not seem to hear the request. “I wanted you to know that I left Mrs. Hatch immediately after I saw you,” she said, as though continuing her confession.