"My, dear, it is not a question of strength, but of will," said Fulvia. "People can do a good deal more, commonly, than they think they can, if only they would make up their minds to it, and manage to forget themselves."
Anice was hurt, of course, by the home-truth, and wept anew.
Then Daisy entered, with red eyes and broken breath. "Mother sent me," she said. "Is Fulvie up? Mother wants Nigel so, and I promised to tell him."
"Anice can tell him. Sit down, Daisy, and have some tea. You have done your share."
Anice complied reluctantly. She did not like being sent on errands.
"He is coming," she said, on her return. "But I don't think he is pleased. He had a lot of papers out, and he stopped to put them away."
"Did you tell him I was here?" Fulvia could not resist putting the question.
"No, he didn't ask."
The study door was heard to open and shut. Fulvia wished she could have controlled the rush of blood to her face. An impulse came over her to escape, yet she sat still. And when Nigel entered, there were no signs of a corresponding agitation on his part. He looked paler, sterner, older, than she could have imagined possible.
Fulvia asked timidly, "Will you have some tea?"