Mrs Dale was silent for a minute or two before she answered this, but then she did answer it. “I think I do,” said she. “I think I do wish for it.”
“I am very sure that I do,” said Lily.
At this time Lily had her breakfast upstairs, but went down into the drawing-room in the course of the morning.
“You must be very careful in wrapping yourself as you go downstairs,” said Bell, who stood by the tray on which she had brought up the toast and tea. “The cold is what you would call awful.”
“I should call it jolly,” said Lily, “if I could get up and go out. Do you remember lecturing me about talking slang the day that he first came?”
“Did I, my pet?”
“Don’t you remember, when I called him a swell? Ah, dear! so he was. That was the mistake, and it was all my own fault, as I had seen it from the first.”
Bell for a moment turned her face away, and beat with her foot against the ground. Her anger was more difficult of restraint than was even her mother’s,—and now, not restraining it, but wishing to hide it, she gave it vent in this way.
“I understand, Bell. I know what your foot means when it goes in that way; and you shan’t do it. Come here, Bell, and let me teach you Christianity. I’m a fine sort of teacher, am I not? And I did not quite mean that.”
“I wish I could learn it from some one,” said Bell. “There are circumstances in which what we call Christianity seems to me to be hardly possible.”
“When your foot goes in that way it is a very unchristian foot, and you ought to keep it still. It means anger against him, because he discovered before it was too late that he would not be happy,—that is, that he and I would not be happy together if we were married.”
“Don’t scrutinise my foot too closely, Lily.”
“But your foot must bear scrutiny, and your eyes, and your voice. He was very foolish to fall in love with me. And so was I very foolish to let him love me, at a moment’s notice,—without a thought as it were. I was so proud of having him, that I gave myself up to him all at once, without giving him a chance of thinking of it. In a week or two it was done. Who could expect that such an engagement should be lasting?”
“And why not? That is nonsense, Lily. But we will not talk about it.”
“Ah, but I want to talk about it. It was as I have said, and if so, you shouldn’t hate him because he did the only thing which he honestly could do when he found out his mistake.”
“What; become engaged again within a week!”
“There had been a very old friendship, Bell; you must remember that. But I was speaking of his conduct to me, and not of his conduct to—” And then she remembered that that other lady might at this very moment possess the name which she had once been so proud to think that she would bear herself. “Bell,” she said, stopping her other speech suddenly, “at what o’clock do people get married in London?”