"Ah! Well, she was in the room when he—made his communication to me. I did not know it—Johnson never knew it at all. She had been asleep—but she woke and heard what he said. She fainted—and she has been ill ever since." He added a few words concerning the technicalities of his wife's case.
"Oh, Sydney!—my poor Sydney! I am so sorry," said Lettice, her eyes full of tears. For she saw, by his changed manner, something of what his trouble had been, and she instantly forgot all causes of complaint against him. He was sitting sideways on a chair, with his head on his hand; and when she put her arms round his neck and kissed him, he did not repulse her—indeed, he kissed her in return, and seemed comforted by her caress.
"I can't even see her," he went on. "She faints if I go into the room. How long do you think it will last, Lettice? Will she ever get over it, do you think?"
"If she loves you, I think she will, Sydney. But you must give her time. No doubt it was a great shock to her," said Lettice.
He looked at her assentingly, and then stared out of the window as if absorbed in thought. The result of his reflections seemed to be summed up in a short sentence which, certainly, Lettice had never expected to hear from Sydney's lips:—
"I can't think how I came to be such a damned fool. I beg your pardon, Lettice; but it's true."
"Can I be of any use to you—or to her?"
"Thank you, I don't think so—just yet. I don't know—" heavily—"whether she will want you some day to tell her all you know."
"Oh, no, Sydney!"
"You must do just what you think best about it. I shall put no barriers in the way. Perhaps she had better know everything now."