“The days are no longer perfect, as they were during my honeymoon,” said Mrs. Herbert, “though it is June.”
“You must have been misinformed,” said Lady Blake.
“Oh, no, it was June, I assure you. One does not forget that.”
“I mean about Launa. The Duchess is so particular, and it happened so long ago. Good-bye, dear.”
She rustled away to call at the House for her husband.
Next day Launa received an invitation for the musical party—she was even asked to play. She refused that honour.
SYLVIA had become necessary to Launa, who had at first used her as a screen, for Mr. Wainbridge was there always, and with Sylvia present naturally there were no demonstrations.
Paul made his appearance only a degree less frequently—Launa did not mind being alone with him. He was waiting in London for her wedding day, for which no date was appointed, and Paul was not anxious to arrange this.
Sylvia talked to Paul when Mr. Wainbridge was in possession, and it occurred to Launa that Sylvia was very attractive—probably Paul thought this also.
In these days Launa felt that meditation and thought were unprofitable; she turned to Sylvia for something, not for protection, but for companionship. Sylvia was restless, Launa was restless also; the days were unsatisfactory if one hour were unoccupied. A day of inaction was Launa’s present idea of torment. Sylvia and she agreed on this subject.
One night Launa had come in very tired; too tired to eat. She drank some chocolate, and sat in the music-room.
Mr. Wainbridge appeared. It was late, and he had been at his uncle’s. The room was full of poppies; the heavy odour was oppressive, and the flowers were falling—slowly, slowly they tumbled down every few minutes.
“They are the ghosts of the past,” said Launa at last, as one or two flowers fell simultaneously, and yet as it were with reluctance. “Do you hear the slow sound they make as they fall? I am very tired.”
“Your tea-gown is like moonlight, and you look divine.”
“And unearthly? I would rather be human.”
“Tell me something new,” she replied, with a laugh of confidence, and a look—“something that I do not already know.”
“What have you been doing to-day?” he asked, feeling the commonplace safe.
“I went with Sylvia to see a woman who is dying—and yet it is not certain she will die—to die is peace.”