Florence changes color and glances at her host with parted lips.  Dora Talbot, pressing her way through the group in the door-way, goes straight up to him as if impulsively, and takes his hand in both hers.

“Dear Sir Adrian, how can we be thankful enough for your escape?” she says sweetly, tears standing in her bright blue eyes.  She presses his hand warmly, and even raises it to her lips in a transport of emotion.  Standing there in the pretty pink dressing-gown that shows off her complexion to perfection, Dora Talbot looks lovely.

“You are very good—­very kind,” returns Sir Adrian, really touched by her concern, but still with eyes only for the white vision in the door-way; “but you make too much of nothing.  I am only sorry I have been the unhappy cause of rousing you from your rosy dreams; you will not thank me to-morrow when there will be only lilies in your cheeks.”

The word lily brings back to him his last interview with Florence.  He glances hurriedly at her right hand; yes, the same lily is clasped in her fingers.  Has she sat ever since with his gift before her, in her silent chamber?  Alone—­in grief perhaps.  But why has she kept his flower?  What can it all mean?

“We shall mind nothing, now you are safe,” Dora assures him tremulously.

“I think I might be shown some consideration,” puts in Arthur, trying by a violent effort to assert himself, and to speak lightly.  “Had anything happened, surely I should have been the one to be pitied.  It would have been my fault, and, Mrs. Talbot, I think you might show some pity for me.”  He holds out his hand, and mechanically Dora lays her own in it.

But it is only for an instant, and she shudders violently as his touch meets hers.  Her eyes are on the ground, and she can not bring herself to look at him.  Drawing her fingers hurriedly from his, she goes to the door and disappears from view.

In the meantime, Sir Adrian, having made his way to Florence, points to the lily.

“You have held it ever since?” he asks, in a low tone.  “I hardly hoped for so much.  But you have not congratulated me, you alone have said nothing.”

“Why need I speak?  I have seen you with my own eyes.  You are safe.  Believe me, Sir Adrian, I congratulate you most sincerely upon your escape.”

Her words are cold, her eyes downcast.  She is deeply annoyed with herself for having carried the lily into his presence here.  The very fact of his having noticed it and spoken to her about it has shown her how much importance he has attached to her doing so.  What will he think of her.  He will doubtless picture her to himself sitting weeping and brooding over a flower given to her by a man who loves her not, and to whom she has given her love unsolicited.

Her marked coldness so oppresses him that he steps back, and does not venture to address her again.  It occurs to him that she is reserved because of Arthur’s presence.