“But Mary, dear, you must really go to bed now,” said Lilias, at last; “don’t trouble about putting away anything till the morning.”
“Yes,” agreed Mary, “I’m going now. Good-night, Lilias. You said you had enjoyed the ball very much—I’m so glad you did. But, Lilias,” she added, wistfully, “I wish you would tell me—you don’t mind my asking, do you?—is—is anything settled—explained, I mean?” Lilias’s cheeks flushed.
“It is all right,” she said, hastily—“I am sure it is all right. There is nothing to explain; I trust him thoroughly, and—and I don’t mind its not being what you call ‘settled’ just yet. It is nice keeping it just to ourselves.”
“Only,” said Mary, with some reluctance, “it isn’t being kept to yourselves. Every one must have noticed him to-night, and that was why I was so anxious to hear if it was all understood and settled.”
“Then don’t be anxious any more,” said Lilias, reassuringly, as she kissed her—“I am not; I could not be happier than I am. But I understand your feeling—I would have it for you, I dare say. Just set your mind at rest; you may ask me about it again—let me see—yes, this time to-morrow, if you like, and I think I shall be able to satisfy you.”
”‘In to-day already walks to-morrow,’” said Mary, laughing. “My ‘spirit’ is ‘striding on before the event,’ anyway, and the best thing I can do is to let you go to sleep. Kiss me again, Lilias; it’s to-morrow already, you know.”
“I wish Lilias hadn’t said that about this time tomorrow,” she thought to herself. “I wish she were not so confident, and yet how can she be less so if she trusts him? How could I bear to see her trust broken?”