CHAPTER X
As she got up the next morning Lily began to shrink inexpressibly from the thought of going to poor Mr. Ponting’s funeral. She longed to summon up courage and tell Aunt Cosy that she really felt too ill. As so often happens after a shock, she felt far worse to-day than she had done even immediately after her fearful discovery.
She went downstairs with laggard steps, to be met in the corridor below by the Countess.
“There is a quarter of an hour before you and Uncle Angelo must start,” she exclaimed, “and I have told Cristina to boil you an egg. Coffee is not sufficiently substantial.”
She shepherded the unresisting girl into the kitchen. Cristina’s eyes were swollen; she looked as if she had been crying all night.
“Now sit down,” commanded the Countess, “and eat what you call in England a good breakfast. It is right to show sorrow when something sad has happened, but do not look as if you yourself were dying! I do not want people to think that you, Lily, were in love with Mr. Ponting.”
Lily felt a shock of disgust. What a vulgar, heartless thing to say! She grew very red, and Aunt Cosy laughed harshly.
And yet the Countess Polda was feeling far better disposed to the girl than was usual with her. As she watched Lily daintily eating her egg, she was telling herself that her guest was certainly a very pretty girl. The type, too, that Beppo admired—that fair, rather delicate, English type dowered with an exquisitely clear complexion and what the French call blond cendré hair.
The pleasant thought that her beloved son would certainly approve of Lily cheered up the Countess mightily, and when Lily stood up she patted the girl’s hand. “You look very nice,” she said. “That black coat and skirt and the little toque compose just the right costume to wear on such a sad occasion as this.”
The Count’s voice was heard in the passage. “Cosy! Cosy!” he called out impatiently.