The day arrived, Mr. Bingley's carriage again drove to the door, and the three ladies took their seats in it, Kitty's farewell glance being given towards the spot where she had last seen William Price. With their going, the whole episode seemed to be finally closed, and Georgiana turned to re-enter the house, and to take up the duties of a life which, in one short week, seemed to have been robbed of almost all its brightness. She had been making an unsuccessful struggle against low spirits, ever since the ill-omened day of the ball, and being unable to dismiss, had tried hard to account for, the strange sense of depression, of loneliness, and loss, which assailed her continually. It was not only sorrow for Kitty's disappointment, or regret for her own share in it, nor was it the estrangement that had arisen between them; no, it was not a vision of Kitty that so constantly obtruded itself upon her thoughts, but of a very different person, one whose ardent looks and words insisted on being remembered, whose voice she seemed to hear again pleading for what she dared not give. Every detail of their conversation in the gallery crowded upon Georgiana's memory, once she had made her confession to Kitty, and would admit these thoughts; they would not be denied, as she had denied him a hearing, but came back to her with a vivid clearness and an irresistible appeal. She remembered how he had described the beginnings and the growth of his attachment to her, and looking back over the course of their acquaintance, countless incidents stood out, to verify all he had said. When no longer viewed through Kitty's illusions, every one of their meetings and conversations was seen in its true light, consolidating their friendship, giving each an insight into the other's character. Why was it such a joy, though an indescribably painful one, to recall these things, to live again through the moments spent in the gallery? Georgiana's heart answered her, and she felt that the answer must always have been there, though she had only just awakened to it. It was a joy because everything connected with William Price must be a joy to her, himself, his nobleness, his true worth, and the knowledge that he cared for her, but it was pain, because, sweet though it was to hear what he had to tell her, it was a disloyalty to her friend to listen, the friend whose life had perhaps been spoilt by their mistake. How could she ever think of being happy as long as that friend suffered? For despite her grief at the thought that she had lost him for ever, that she had refused his love and he would never know now that she loved him in return, yet Georgiana felt that she could not have acted differently. Even had she known at the moment he spoke, what he was to her, she could not have been so traitorous as to take what Kitty longed for, from under her very eyes; and she was glad that Kitty did not guess at the extent of the sacrifice. Chapter XXII