One hot afternoon I had risen for the first time, and was sitting among pillows in the armchair reading some magazines which Dick had thoughtfully brought me during the luncheon hour, when a timid knock sounded at the door. The Hag had left me to attend upon her other “young gentlemen” in the Temple, and I was alone. Therefore I rose and answered the summons, finding to my surprise that my visitor was Lily Lowry.
At once, at my invitation, she entered, a slim figure dressed in neat, if cheap, black, without any attempt at being fashionable, but with that primness and severity expected of lady’s-maids and shop-assistants. Her gloves were neat, her hat suited her well, and beneath her veil I saw a pretty face, pale, interesting and anxious-looking.
“I didn’t expect to find any one in, except Mrs Joad,” she said apologetically, as she took the chair I offered. Then, noticing my pillows, and perhaps the paleness of my countenance, she asked. “What? You are surely not ill, Mr Urwin?”
“Yes,” I answered. “I’ve been rather queer for a week past. The heat, or something of that sort, I suppose. Nothing at all serious.”
“I’m so glad of that,” she said. “I only called because I was passing. I’ve been matching some silk at the wholesale houses in the City, and as I wanted to give Mr Cleugh a message I thought I’d leave it with Mrs Joad.”
“A message?” I repeated. “Can I give it?”
She hesitated, and I saw that a slight blush suffused her cheeks.
“No,” she faltered. “You’re very kind, but perhaps, after all, it would be better to write to him.”
“As you like,” I said, smiling. “You don’t, of course, care to trust your secrets in my keeping—eh?”
She looked at me seriously for a moment, her lips quivered, and she drew a long breath.