Lily had covered her face with her hands, and there was a moment of silence, unbroken save by a sob from Beenie, who naturally, having spoken forth her soul, was now crying as if her heart would break.
“Beenie,” said Lily, all at once looking up, “you will go to Mr. Lumsden, who will be now at his lodgings dressing, I would not wonder, to go out to dinner—that is what is most likely—and tell him I am here. I would not wish to make him lose his engagement if he has one; you can say that.”
“Oh, mem!” murmured Beenie under her breath.
“But when it suits with his convenience, I would like to see him, to ask him a question or two. Go now, go,” she said impatiently, “or you will be too late.”
Weeping, Beenie went forth to do her mistress’s behest. Weeping, she put on her big bonnet, with a veil over it, of a kind of Spanish lace with huge flowers, which was the fashion of the day, and which allowed here and there a patch of her tearful countenance to appear, blocking out the rest. She found some difficulty in gaining admittance to Ronald, who was, his landlady informed her, “dressing to go out to his dinner,” as Lily had foretold, and it was in the full glory of evening dress that he came forth upon her after she had fought her way to his sitting-room, and had waited some time for his appearance. He was very much startled by the sight of her, and came up taking her hand, demanding: “Lily—how is my Lily?” with an energy and anxiety which partly quenched Beenie’s unreasonable exasperation at the sight of his dress.
“She is here, sir, and wishful to see you,” said Beenie, “when it’s convenient to you.”
“Lily here—where? What do you mean? Convenient! Do you mean she is at the door?”
“It is not likely, sir,” cried Beenie with indignant disgust.
“What do you mean, woman? Lily who, you wrote to me, was just recovered from a nearly fatal illness!”
“And that’s true. Her blood would have been on the head of them that brought it on her if it had not been for the mercy of God.”