For two long hours she lay, broad awake, in a blank tearless despair; and then the door was gently opened, and Madoline came softly into the room and seated herself by the bed. Daphne was lying with her face to the wall. She did not turn immediately, but stretched out her hand to her sister without a word. ‘Dearest, your hand is burning hot; you must be in a fever,’ said Madoline. ‘No; there is nothing the matter with me.’ ‘I’m afraid there is. I’m afraid that walk was too fatiguing. I have ordered some tea for you.’ The maid brought it in as she spoke; not Mowser; Mowser had kept herself aloof with an air of settled gloom, ever since her return to Montreux. ‘I hope you have had a nice long sleep.’ ‘I have not been able to sleep much,’ answered Daphne, turning her languid head upon her pillow, and then sitting up on the bed, a listless figure in a tumbled white gown, with loose hair falling over shoulders; ‘I have not been able to sleep much, but I have been resting. Don’t trouble about me, Lina dear. I am very well. What delicious tea!’ she said, as she tasted the cup which Madoline had just poured out for her. ‘How good you are! I want to talk with you—to have a long serious talk—about you and—Mr. Goring.’ ‘Indeed, dear. It is not often my lively sister has any inclination for seriousness.’ ‘No; but I have been thinking deeply of late about long engagements, and short engagements, and love before marriage, and love after marriage—don’t you know.’ Her eyes were hidden under their drooping lids, but her colour changed from pale to rose and from rose to pale as she spoke. ‘And what wise thoughts have you had upon the subject, dearest?’ asked Lina lightly. ‘I can hardly explain them; but I have been thinking—you know that I am not desperately in love with—poor Edgar. I have never pretended to be so; have I, dear?’ ‘You have always spoken lightly of him. But it is your way to speak lightly of everything; and I hope and believe that he is much more dear to you than you say he is.’ ‘He is not. I respect him, because I know how good he is; but that is all. And do you know, Lina, I have sometimes fancied that your feeling for Mr. Goring is not much stronger than mine for Edgar. You are attached to him; you have an affection for him, which has grown out of long acquaintance and habit—an almost sisterly affection; but you are not passionately in love with him. If he were to die you would be grieved, but you would not be heartbroken.’ She said this slowly, deliberately, her eyes no longer downcast, but reading her sister’s face.