“It knew when he was dying, and grew so dull and pale. Now it burns brighter than ever.”
Then they parted. Sylvia went to the theatre, Lily sat by the fire. The day was cold and dark. She had cocoa instead of dinner, that was an ordeal she could not face alone. She sat and thought; she shut her eyes until she imagined he was there, she could almost feel his kisses, till a shuddering sob of the cold reality recalled her mind to the present. About nine o’clock her parlourmaid came in and told her Captain Carden wished to see her on important business.
“Very well,” said Lily, “I will see him.”
She disliked him—indifferently—and regarded a visit from him as she would one from the cabinet-maker or the plumber, so he was admitted, when to Mr. George or Sir Ralph she would have said “Not at home.”
Captain Carden’s face was red, he appeared excited.
“I have good news,” he said. “You dislike Launa almost as much as I do?”
“No, no, Launa and I are friends. She is one of the noblest women I have ever met.”
“You have changed. Would you not be glad to hear something which will give her trouble, which will be a blow to her? Women often are glad when such things happen.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you are telling me the truth I will not tell you what I mean. Are you not trying to deceive me by a pretence of virtue and friendship with Launa? You are slightly under a cloud now, will she know what gloom means soon?”