"He is to be buried in the cloisters, near to this entrance-door, near to where we are now standing. There appears to be a vacant space here," cried Mr. St. John, looking down at his feet: "I dare say it will be in this very spot."
"By whose decision is he to be buried in the cloisters?" quickly asked Georgina.
"The dean's, of course. Henry craved it of him."
"I wonder papa did not tell me! What a singular fancy of Henry's!"
"I do not think so. It was natural that he should wish his last resting-place to be amidst old associations, amidst his old companions; and near to you, Georgina."
"There! I knew what you were driving at," returned Georgina, in a pouting, wilful tone. "You are going to accuse me of breaking his heart, or some such obsolete nonsense: I assure you I never——"
"Stay, Georgina; I do not care to hear this. I have delivered his message to you, and there let it end."
"You are as stupid and fanciful as he was," retorted Miss Beauclerc.
"Not quite so stupid in one respect, for he was blind to your faults; I am not. And never shall be," he added, in a tone of significance which caused the life-blood at Georgina's heart to stand still.
But she could not keep it up—the assumption of indifference, the apparent levity. The death was telling upon her, and she burst into hysterical tears. At that moment, Lewis junior passed them, and swung in at the cathedral door, on the master's errand, meeting Mrs. Beauclerc, who was coming out.