"Yes," he at length said, abstractedly, for neither spoke for a few minutes, "it is a loss to Hallingham. This will be sad news to write to your brother."
"It is already written. The mail has been gone a day or two. O yes! it will be grievous news for Edward."
The last two words were spoken in a tone of intense pain. She checked it, and began talking of her aunt, of Caroline, of anything; almost as if she doubted herself. She told him she had been out that day to see the two little boys. At length he rose to leave.
"Will you not stay and take some tea? I do not suppose my aunt will be long."
He declined. He seemed to have grown more cold and formal. Until he took her hand in leaving, and then the tender tone of voice, the pleasant look of the eye shone out again.
"May Heaven be with you, Miss Davenal!--and render your future days happier than they can be just now. Fare you well! I hope to hear good news of you from time to time."
Which was of course equivalent to saying that he should not be a visitor. She had not expected that he would be. He turned back ere he gained the door.
"If I can be of service to you at any time or in anyway, I hope you will not hesitate to command me. Nothing would give me so much gratification as the being of use to you, should need arise."
It was very polite, it was very kind, and at the same time very formal. Perhaps the strangest part throughout the interview to Sara's ears was that when he had called her "Miss Davenal," for it presented so great a contrast to the past: the past which was at an end for ever.
He went out, shown through the hall by Jessy, and leaving his card on the standing waiter for Miss Davenal. All en règle. And Sara in the large drawing-room, so dreary now, remained on in her pain, alone.