“Oh, you may trust me for that,” said she, with decision.  “Do you think I don’t know how important that is?”

Miss Burgoyne went into the room.  Lionel was still in bed, but propped up in a sitting posture; and to keep his arms and shoulders warm he had donned a gorgeous smoking-jacket, the fantastic colors of which were hardly in keeping with his character as invalid.  He knew of her arrival, and had laid aside the paper he had been reading.

“I am so glad to know you are getting on so satisfactorily,” said Miss Burgoyne, in her most pleasant way.  “And they tell me your voice will be all right too.  Of course you must exercise great caution; it will be some time before you can begin your vocalises again.”

“How is Doyle doing?” he asked, in a fairly clear voice.

“Oh, pretty well,” said she, but in rather a dissatisfied fashion.  “It is difficult to say what it is that is wanting—­he looks well, acts well, sings well—­a very good performance altogether—­and yet—­it is respectable, and nothing more.  He really has a good voice, as you know, and thoroughly well trained; but it seems to me as if there were in his singing everything but the one thing—­everything but the thrill that makes your breath stop at times.  However,” added Miss Burgoyne, out of her complaisance, “the public will wait a long time before they find any one to sing ‘The Starry Night’ as you sang it, and as I hope you’ll be singing it again before long.”

She was silent for a second or two; she seemed to have something to say, and yet to hesitate about saying it.

“I hear you are going to Italy when you are strong enough to travel?” she observed, at last.

“That is what they advise.”

“You will be away for some time?”

“I suppose so.”

And again she sat silent for a little while, pulling at the fringe of her rose-lined sun-shade.

“Well, Lionel,” she said, at length, with downcast eyes, “there is something I have been thinking about for a long time back, and if you are going away very soon, and perhaps for a considerable while, I ought to tell you.  It may be a relief to you as well as to me; indeed, I think it will; if I had imagined what I have to say would vex you in any way, you may be sure I wouldn’t come at such a time as this.  But to be frank—­that engagement—­do you think we entered upon it with any kind of wisdom, or with any fair prospect of happiness?  Now if I trouble you or hurt your feelings in any way, you can stop me with a single word,” she interposed, and she ventured to look up a little and to address him more directly.  “The truth is, I was flattered by such a proposal—­naturally—­and rather lost my head, perhaps, when I ought to have asked myself what was the true state of our feelings towards each other.  Of course, it was I who was in the wrong; I ought to have considered.  And I must say you have behaved most honorably throughout; you never showed the least sign of a wish to break the engagement, even when we had our little quarrels, and you may have received some provocation.  But after all, Lionel, I think you must admit that our relations have not been quite—­quite—­what you might expect between two people looking forward to spending their lives together.”