“One hardly likes to think of her, you know, sitting in the same room with Soper.”

“We all have to put up with Mr. Soper.”

“Yes; but if she isn’t strong, she ought to have some place where she can be alone and rest.  Besides, it’ll be nicer for you.  You’ll see a great deal more of her, you know, that way.”

In the end the offer was accepted.  For, as Miss Roots pointed out to her friend, it would give him far more pleasure to lend his room than to sit in it himself.

Certainly it gave him pleasure, a thrilling, subtle, and perfidious pleasure, every time that he thought of Lucia occupying his room.  But before she could be allowed to enter, he caused it to be thoroughly cleansed, and purified as far as possible from the tobacco smoke that lingered in the curtains and the armchairs.  He tidied it up with his own hands, removing or concealing the unlovelier signs of his presence and profession.  He bought several cushions (silk and down) for the sofa, and a curtain for the door to keep out the draught, and a soft rug for Lucia’s feet; also a tea-table, a brass kettle and a spirit lamp, and flowers in an expensive pot.  He did things to them to make them look as if they had been some little time in use.  He caused a wrinkle to appear in the smooth blue cheeks of the sofa cushions.  He rubbed some of the youth off the edges of the tea-table.  He made the brass kettle dance lightly on the floor, until, without injury to its essential beauty, it had acquired a look of experience.  It was the deceit involved in these proceedings that gave him the first clear consciousness of guilt.  He persuaded himself that all these articles would come in nicely for the little house at Ealing, then remembered that he had provided most of them already.

In doubt as to the propriety of these preparations, he again approached Miss Roots.  “I say,” said he, “you needn’t tell her all these things are mine.  I’m going to leave them here in case she wants to stay on afterwards.  She won’t have to pay so much then, you know.”  He hesitated.  “Do you think that’s a thing that can be done?”

“Oh yes, it can be done,” she replied with an unmistakable emphasis.

“But I mayn’t do it?  Mayn’t I?  It’s all right if she doesn’t know, you know.”

Miss Roots said nothing; but he gathered that she would not betray him, that she understood.

He could not explain matters half so clearly to himself.  He might have wanted to lend his study to his friend’s cousin; he certainly did want to lend it to Lucia for her own sake; but besides these very proper and natural desires he had other motives which would not bear too strict examination.  Lucia sitting in the same room with Mr. Soper was not a spectacle that could be calmly contemplated; but he hoped that by providing her with a refuge from Mr Soper he might induce her to stay till the moment of his own departure.  And there was another selfish consideration.