He took a chair, for he had no wish to go away immediately. Juliet seated herself opposite to him. She sat gazing at her hands folded together on her lap, and for some moments neither spoke. He had time to observe her more closely, and to mark the look of age which, despite its youthful contour and her childlike, appealing glance, had crept into her face.
Then he said, "I am sorry to hear that your mother is suffering to-day. It is nothing serious, I trust?"
"Only a bad headache. She was excited and troubled yesterday, and this is the consequence. She can bear so little now. It will be long ere she recovers from the effects of her illness."
There was a pause, and then Juliet added in a low, distinct voice, "You know what made her ill?"
He did not profess to misunderstand her.
"It was her anxiety for you," he said.
"It was because I was so wicked and ungrateful," said Juliet.
He was silent.
"Mr. Mainprice," said Juliet, speaking tremulously, "you once warned me against following my own way. You said it would not bring me happiness. You were right. I have taken my own way, and it has brought me the most hopeless misery. You said you were sorry for me. Well, you may be sorry for me now, for my life is quite blighted."
Her words ended in a sob.