'That is impossible! I can never be friends with Julia as I once was. She has—— No, never can we be friends again. But why do you always take her part against me? That is what grieves me most. If only you thought——'
'Emily dear, these are but idle fancies. You are mistaken.'
The conversation fell. The girl lay quite still, her hands clasped across the shawl, her little foot stretched beyond the limp black dress, the hem of which fell over the edge of the grey sofa. Hubert sat by her on a low chair, and he looked into the fire, whose light wavered over the walls, now and again bringing the face of one of the pictures out of the darkness. The wind whined about the windows. Then, speaking as if out of a dream, Emily said—
'Julia and I can never be friends again—that is impossible.'
'But what has she done?' Hubert asked incautiously, regretting his words as soon as he had uttered them.
'What has she done?' she said, looking at him curiously. 'Well, one thing, she has got it reported that—that I am in love with you, and that that is the reason of my illness.'
'I am sure she never said any such thing. You are entirely mistaken. Mrs. Bentley is incapable of such wickedness.'
'A woman, when she is jealous, will say anything. If she did not say it, can you tell me how it got about?'
'I don't believe any one ever said such a thing.'