“Lily,” he whispered, “has George heard anything?”
“I think so,” she answered, without looking up. “He just hinted, in a way that made me think he must have been prying into my affairs, that it would be better for me to do as he wished. But, after all,” she cried, in a different tone, raising her proud head from the table as suddenly as she had cast it down, “I have done nothing wrong—nothing to be ashamed of. It is not my fault if I am so hunted and teased and mistrusted by my own family that I cannot see what friends I please, but must correspond with them secretly. For I won’t give up my friends at any one’s bidding!”
“But you saw him not long ago, and by your friends’ invitation,” said Stephen, in a low voice.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you think I didn’t know at the first moment of seeing you with Colonel Richardson, that it was his letters I had been receiving for you? Oh, Lilian—and he is married!”
“And what if he is?” asked the girl, quietly. “I like him well enough to marry him if he were free; but I am not going to give up his friendship just because Aunt Constantia and mamma and Annie insulted him and me when I was in town by saying our acquaintance was improper. I shall have what friends I please—now and always; and, if I am to marry Mr. Falconer soon after Christmas, I will see Colonel Richardson again before then.”
“Soon after Christmas!” echoed Stephen, in a low voice.
“So George says. And the sooner the better, for then I shall be free,” said the girl, impatiently. “And now you must post a letter for me at Beckham to-morrow—just one more—the last,” she added, coaxingly.
“To Colonel Richardson, under cover, as usual, I suppose?”
“Yes. And, as it is perhaps the very last service you will ever be able to do me, I am sure you won’t tease about it, will you?”