“I see,” she replied, “and it is too late.”
There was a pause for some moments. Each woman was thinking of those things which usually intrude only at night, and which we push into their corner and avoid contemplating as much as possible.
“Launa is an angel,” said Lily. “She has been so good to me.”
“She has never loved any one,” said Sylvia.
“She would probably have married the other man for money, if she had,” said Lily.
“Her well-regulated affection for Mr. Wainbridge is like her engagement ring. A diamond between two sapphires—neat and even. Have you ever seen my locket?”
“No. I cannot help thinking, Sylvia, he meant to come back. He sent me a present on my birthday, a little locket of pearls. He would not have sent pearls if he thought me—bad—would he? Oh, Sylvia, how lovely!”
Sylvia had unbuttoned her dress and pulled out a locket. It was an opal in the shape of a heart, surrounded by diamonds. It gleamed and glowed with an unearthly radiance. It seemed a living thing emitting sparks of fire.
“How lovely!” repeated Lily.
Sylvia hid it again.