After this Lily was silent for a minute or two.  She felt that an injustice was being done to her and she was not inclined to put up with it, but she could not quite see where the injustice lay.  A great deal was owing from her to Crosbie.  In very much she was bound to yield to him, and she was anxious to do on his behalf even more than her duty.  But yet she had a strong conviction that it would not be well that she should give way to him in everything.  She wished to think as he thought as far as possible, but she could not say that she agreed with him when she knew that she differed from him.  John Eames was an old friend whom she could not abandon, and so much at the present time she felt herself obliged to say.

“But, Adolphus—­”

“Well, dearest?”

“You would not wish me to be unkind to so very old a friend as John Eames?  I have known him all my life, and we have all of us had a very great regard for the whole family.  His father was my uncle’s most particular friend.”

“I think, Lily, you must understand what I mean.  I don’t want you to quarrel with any of them, or to be what you call unkind.  But you need not give special and pressing invitations to this young man to come and see you before he goes back to London, and then to come and see you directly you get to London.  You tell me that he had some kind of romantic idea of being in love with you;—­of being in despair because you are not in love with him.  It’s all great nonsense, no doubt, but it seems to me that under such circumstances you’d better—­just leave him alone.”

Again Lily was silent.  These were her three last days, in which it was her intention to be especially happy, but above all things to make him especially happy.  On no account would she say to him sharp words, or encourage in her own heart a feeling of animosity against him, and yet she believed him to be wrong; and so believing could hardly bring herself to bear the injury.  Such was her nature, as a Dale.  And let it be remembered that very many who can devote themselves for great sacrifices, cannot bring themselves to the endurance of little injuries.  Lily could have given up any gratification for her lover, but she could not allow herself to have been in the wrong, believing herself to have been in the right.

“I have asked him now, and he must come,” she said.

“But do not press him to come any more.”

“Certainly not, after what you have said, Adolphus.  If he comes over to Allington, he will see me in mamma’s house, to which he has always been made welcome by her.  Of course I understand perfectly—­”

“You understand what, Lily?”

But she had stopped herself, fearing that she might say that which would be offensive to him if she continued.

“What is it you understand, Lily?”

“Do not press me to go on, Adolphus.  As far as I can, I will do all that you want me to do.”