She liked to be with him, and she freely indulged the liking upon any occasion that offered.
"Oh, Lucy, I loved her! I did love her!" he would say, having repeated the same words perhaps fifty times before in other interviews; and he would lean back in his easy-chair, and cover his eyes with his hand, as if willing to shut out all sight save that of the past.

"Heaven knows what she was to me! Heaven only knows what her faithlessness has cost!" "Did you dream of her last night, Lionel ?" answered Lucy, from her low seat where she generally sat, near to Lionel, but with her face mostly turned from him.
And it may as well be mentioned that Miss Lucy never thought of such a thing as _discouraging_ Lionel's love and remembrance of Sibylla.

Her whole business in the matter seemed to be to listen to him, and help him to remember her.
"Ay," said Lionel, in answer to the question.

"Do you suppose I should dream of anything else ?" Whatever Lucy may or may not have supposed, it was a positive fact, known well to Lionel--known to him, and remembered by him to this hour--that he constantly dreamed of Sibylla.

Night after night, since the unhappy time when he learned that she had left him for Frederick Massingbird, had she formed the prominent subject of his dreams.