She laid her hand lightly on his sleeve, and waited anxiously for his next words. "I hope," he said, looking into her face with an expression of tender solicitude, "that the effects of your faintness have quite passed away." "Yes, thank you. It was very stupid of me to give way so." "You must not say that. You could not help it. And you are the last person, I am sure, to give pain to your friends." She raised her eyes to his. "It pained me exceedingly to see you overcome, and I could not help reproaching myself for being the innocent cause of your suffering." "You were not to know that I was so weak; you did not know what kind of a play it was we were going to see." "Thank you, Miss Lily," he said eagerly, "thank you. You do me greater justice than your friend Lizzie did. I think she must be ungrateful." "No, indeed," said Lily warmly. "She is the very reverse of that. You must not speak ill of Lizzie, Mr. Sheldrake." "Your wish is law," he replied gallantly; "but if she is not ungrateful, I am the most unfortunate of men, for I have by some unaccountable means incurred the displeasure of two persons whom you love--your grandfather and Lizzie." He paused here, anticipating, and wishing, that Lily would have replied to this, but she was silent. "And the mystery is, that both have good reason to behave differently towards me, to think better of me, for they must know that I have stood a good friend to Alfred. You know that." "Yes." "We entered into a compact, if you remember--you and I--to work together for Alfred's good. You _do_ remember it, do you not?" "Yes." "That was at Bushey Park. It is one of the pleasantest days in my remembrance. Well, now, I've tried to perform my part in the contract. I've stood Alfred's friend through thick and thin--very few men would have stuck to him as I have done. However, I can take no credit to myself for doing so; he has you to thank for it--only you. Why, here am I repeating the very few words I said to you on the day we entered into partnership!" His treacherous hand closed upon hers with a tender pressure which made her shiver. Not so much in the words he had spoken, but in the manner of their utterance, he made her understand that he held Alfred's safety--perhaps his life--in his hand, and she felt that if she repulsed him Alfred would be made to suffer. He released her presently, and encouraged by her submission his treacherous arms would have stolen round her waist. But instinctively she evaded the embrace, and stood apart from him. Had her life depended upon it, she could not have acted otherwise. At this moment a man passed through the archway. Mr. Sheldrake's back was towards the man, who, with a keen observance of Lily's attitude, walked slowly onwards in the direction of Lily's home. Mr. Sheldrake waited until the man was out of hearing before he spoke again.