“What has made you look so ill?” he asked, with surprise. “Is it the result of your anxiety for Mrs. Clarendon? Why didn’t you tell me that you were not well?” “There was nothing necessary to speak of,” she answered, in a voice which seemed to come from a parched throat. “I think I am not quite well, but it’s nothing more than I am used to; I have headaches.” “You haven’t written to me for a fortnight. Why didn’t you ask me to come and see you?” “I supposed you would come before long.” “You don’t seem very glad to see me, now I have come,” said Lacour musingly. “Yes, I am glad.” The words had not much life, and the smile with which she accompanied them was as pain-stricken as a smile could be. Lacour, still holding her hand, looked down, his brows contracting. “You haven’t had any bad news?” he asked all at once, facing her. “Bad news?” “It is not anything you have heard that has made you ill?” “Certainly not. What should I have heard?” Her tone had sincerity in it, and relieved him from the suspicion that she too might have received an anonymous letter. He leaned back in his chair smiling. “What should I have heard?” Ada repeated impatiently, examining his face. “Oh, I don’t know. We are always getting news, and there is so much more of bad than good. Mrs. Clarendon seems to be much better,” he added, slapping his leg with his gloves. “Yes. You have heard from her?” “Several times. I had a letter this morning.” “What did she say?” “She spoke of the necessary preparations for our marriage.” Ada was silent. She had several times moved nervously on her chair, and now she seemed compelled by restlessness to change her position. A small ornament on a bracket had got out of position; she went and put it right. “What preparations?55 she asked, walking to the window. “I don’t exactly know. She wishes me to see her lawyer. Unfortunately,” he added in a joking tone, “you are not one of those girls whose marriage is a simple matter of the ceremony.” She turned and came towards him, her hands hanging clasped before her. “That is something I have to speak of. I cannot mention it to Mrs. Clarendon, and if I tell you now it will be done with. I desire that there shall be no kind of settlement. Nothing of the kind is enacted by the will, and I do not wish it. Will you please to see that my wish is respected?” “Why is it your wish?” “I can give no reason. I wish it.” “I imagine there will be very strong opposition, and not only from Mrs. Clarendon. I expect the trustees will have something to say.” Ada’s eyes flashed; her whole face showed agitation, passionate impatience. “What does it matter what they say?” she exclaimed. “What are they to me? What is my future to them? If you refuse to give me an assurance that my one desire shall be respected I must turn to Mrs. Clarendon, and that will be hateful to me! I have asked nothing else; but this I wish.”