Lizzie was in a little sitting-room, reached by a long passage with steps
in the middle, at some corner of the castle which seemed a long way from
the great door. It was a cheerful little room, with chintz curtains, and a
few shelves laden with brightly-bound books, which had been prepared for
Lizzie immediately on her marriage. It looked out upon the sea, and she
had almost taught herself to think that here she had sat with her adored
Florian gazing in mutual ecstasy upon the "wide expanse of glittering
waves." She was lying back in a low armchair as her cousin entered, and
she did not rise to receive him. Of course she was alone, Miss Macnulty
having received a suggestion that it would be well that she should do a
little gardening in the moat. "Well, Frank," she said, with her sweetest
smile, as she gave him her hand. She felt and understood the extreme
intimacy which would be implied by her not rising to receive him. As she
could not rush into his arms, there was no device by which she could more
clearly show to him how close she regarded his friendship.
"So I am at Portray Castle at last," he said, still holding her hand.
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