"N-n-no. In a few years—perhaps sooner—it will be—finished."
"And then?"
"And then—oh, don't talk about it! I was foolish to speak about it, anyway—but, do you know, I felt sorry for you. I can't understand why people like having proposals from people they don't want to marry. It always seems to me such a pity that anything should be wasted, that any feeling should burn itself out, without result. That may be a queer way to look at it—but I suppose I am queer. People seem to think so and, perhaps, they are right."
"Well, I'd better go, I suppose," said Lighton, gruffly, after a short pause. "If anything turns up—I mean, if you should change your mind, you know, or anything like that—why"—
"Thank you; but I never shall. Good-night, Mr. Lighton. I'm sorry, really I am. It all seems too bad, but you know it's not my fault."
Left to herself, she drew a long sigh; then rose and moved about the room mechanically straightening the furniture and patting the sofa cushions. Finally she leaned her elbows on the mantelpiece and gazed earnestly into the mirror, above. "Curious what he sees in me!" she said, slowly. "Curious what anyone sees in me! I have nothing to recommend me in the way of looks; it is hard to understand. In spite of all that I have done for—for the boy, he—he doesn't really care very much about me, even now. And yet this man—whom I have done everything to discourage"—
She stared slowly at herself: then turned away.
"Time to go to bed," she said, reluctantly. "And high time to stop—thinking.... Oh, Liol, Liol, Liol!"
CHAPTER XIV
A DECISION TO BE REACHED