Not with any other love: _that_ was already given elsewhere by Lionel Verner.
The winter evening was drawing on, and little light was in the room, save that cast by the blaze of the fire.

It flickered upon Lucy's face, as she stood near it.

Lionel drew a chair towards her.

"Will you not sit down, Miss Tempest ?" A formidable-looking chair, large and stately, as Lucy turned to look at it.

Her eyes fell upon the low one which, earlier in the afternoon, had been occupied by Lady Verner.