"
Lily picked up her muff.
"If you have forbidden her to come down, I shall go."
"Wait," he said slowly. "I haven't forbidden her to see you. I
asked her to wait. I wanted a few moments. You see, it is not
often that I have a Cardew in my house, and I am a selfish man."
She hated him. She loathed his cold eyes, his long, slim white
hands. She hated him until he fascinated her.
"Sit down, and I will call Mrs. Doyle."
He went out again, but this time it was the elderly maid who went
up the stairs. Doyle himself came back, and stood before her on
the hearth rug. He was slightly smiling, and the look of uncertainty
was gone.
"Now that you've seen me, I'm not absolutely poisonous, am I, Miss
Lily? You don't mind my calling you that, do you? You are my niece.
You have been taught to hate me, of course."
"Yes," said Lily, coldly.
"By Jove, the truth from a Cardew!" Then: "That's an old habit of
mine, damning the Cardews. I'll have to try to get over it, if they
are going to reestablish family relations." He was laughing at her,
Lily knew, and she flushed somewhat.
"I wouldn't make too great an effort, then," she said.
He smiled again, this time not unpleasantly, and suddenly he threw
into his rich Irish voice an unexpected softness.
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