“Don’t go, Mary!” cried Lilias, but Mary had already gone.
Ten minutes after she returned to the drawing-room, but no Lilias was there. Mary’s heart failed her.
“Was I wrong to leave her?” she said to herself. “I thought it would be so horrid for me to seem to be watching how she took it.”
She flew up-stairs to her sister’s bedroom. The door was shut, but not locked. Mary knocked.
“Come in,” said Lilias’s voice, and hardly knowing what she was going to see, Mary entered.
There stood Lilias in the centre of the room, her beautiful fair hair all loosened, hanging about her like a cloud, her face pale, but eyes very bright—brighter than usual it seemed to Mary.
“Lily!” she exclaimed.
“Why do you say ‘Lily,’ and look at me like that?” replied her sister, sharply. “There’s nothing the matter. I’m tired, and going to bed early, that’s all. Please tell mamma so, and do ask her not to come to say goodnight to me. No, don’t kiss me, please, Mary. I’m cross, I suppose, just say good-night.”
“Very well,” said Mary, submissively.
She turned sadly to go, but had not reached the door when her sister’s voice recalled her.