The black silhouette that on the terrace had so perfunctorily symbolized Mr. Cardan transformed itself as he entered the lamp-lit saloon into the complete and genial man. His red face twinkled in the light; he was smiling.
"I know Lilian," he was saying. "She'll sit out there under the stars, feeling romantic and getting colder and colder, for hours. There's nothing to be done, I assure you. Tomorrow she'll have rheumatism. We can only resign ourselves and try to bear her sufferings in patience." He sat down in an armchair in front of the enormous empty hearth. "That's better," he said, sighing. Calamy and Miss Thriplow followed his example.
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