He found
her in her room, an evening dress spread on the bed, a roll of ribbon
in one hand, and with the other supporting her forehead, while tears
were slowly rolling down her cheeks.
'Lily, my dear, what is the matter?'
'Oh! nothing, nothing, Claude,' said she, quickly.
'Nothing! no, that is not true. Tell me, Lily. You have been
disconsolate ever since I came home, and I will not let it go on so.
No answer? Then am I to suppose that these new pearlins are the
cause of her sorrow? Come, Lily, be like yourself, and speak. More
tears! Here, drink this water, be yourself again, or I shall be
angry and vexed. Now then, that is right: make an effort, and tell
me.'
'There is nothing to tell,' said Lily; 'only you are very kind--I do
not know what is the matter with me--only I have been very foolish of
late--and everything makes me cry.'
'My poor child, I knew you had not been well. They do not know how
to take care of you, Lily, and I shall take you in hand. I am going
to order the horses, and we will have a gallop over the Downs, and
put a little colour into your cheeks.'
'No, no, thank you, Claude, I cannot come, indeed I cannot, I have
this work, which must be done to-day.
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