"Do," said Lady Newhaven, but without enthusiasm.
She no longer needed Rachel. The crisis during which she had clung to her was past. What shipwrecked seaman casts a second thought after his rescue to the log which supported him upon a mountainous sea? Rachel interrupted pleasant thoughts. Lady Newhaven observed that her friend's face had grown unbecomingly thin, and that what little color there was in it was faded. "She is the same age as I am, but she looks much older," said Lady Newhaven to herself, adding, aloud:
"Dear Rachel!"
"Every one has gone," said Rachel, "and I have had a telegram from Lady Trentham. She has reached Paris, and will be here to-morrow afternoon."
"Dearest mamma!" said Lady Newhaven.
"So now," said Rachel, sitting down near the sofa with a set countenance, "I shall feel quite happy about leaving you."
"Must you go?"
"I must. I have arranged to leave by the seven-thirty to-morrow morning. I think it will be better if we say good-bye over night."
"I shall miss you dreadfully." Lady Newhaven perceived suddenly, and with resentment, that Rachel was anxious to go.
"I do not think you will miss me."