“Why, then, I threw it away,” said she.
“And what will you give me instead?
Will you give me your honour?” she said.
“Elizabeth!”
There was a pause.
“Elizabeth—open your door!”
Elizabeth Chantrey came back from a long way off. Mary was calling her. Mary was knocking at her door. She got up rather wearily, turned the key, and with a little gasp, Mary was in the room, shutting the door, and standing with her back against it. The lamp burned low, but Elizabeth’s eyes were accustomed to the gloom. Mary Mottisfont’s bright, clear colour was one of her great attractions. It was all gone and her dark eyes looked darker and larger than they should have done.
“Why, Molly, I thought you had gone home. Edward told me he was sending you home an hour ago.”
“He told me to go,” said Mary in a sort of stumbling whisper. “He told me to go—but I wanted to wait and go with him. I knew he’d be upset—I knew he’d feel it—when it was all over. I wanted to be with him—oh, Liz——”
“Mary, what is it?”