She rose to go, and Lizzie looked at her with startled eyes. Was this to be the end of the conversation? Clara was the picture of haughty pride, unmoved apparently by any of the thrusts that Lizzie had tried to make so cruel. Jealously insensible to Clara's kindly advances, Lizzie was completely overcome by her manifestation of calm superiority. She bit her lip and crumpled her mother's letter in her hand.
"Mr. Strobel is not here," she said, and her voice broke as if the words choked her.
"I know it," remarked Clara, coolly, with her hand upon the door.
"Miss Hilman! don't go yet!"
There was the sign of coming tears in Lizzie's eyes, and Clara looked down upon her pityingly.
Lizzie made one last effort to recall her determination to be bitter, and compel her visitor to suffer as she suffered, but hers was not the strength of character to meet emergencies, overcome difficulties, and play a part unswayed by her deeper, genuine devotions. She extended her arms upon the table before her, and, laying her head upon them, burst into passionate crying. Clara laid her hand caressingly on Lizzie's head and waited until the first storm of sobs had begun to subside. Then she said in a quiet but not unkind voice:
"Lizzie, have you seen Alexander Poubalov this morning?"
The girl half raised her head, choked back the sobs and replied, "Who?" Clara repeated the name distinctly.
"I don't know who he is," answered Lizzie, wearily.
"Do you remember," asked Clara, "the gentleman who called on Mr. Strobel the morning he was to be married?"