Ethel's fingers pressed Fulvia's. That was her only answer.
"Yes—I was sure you must. And—am I wrong in thinking that he is as much to you? You need not say a word—only you can tell me if I am mistaken. I should like to be able to say to him—no, not from you—only from what I know. Am I taking it all too much for granted?"
Another little break.
"Nigel must ask for himself, of course; I have no right. But—I am not afraid for him. I understand. And now—meantime—till he can—will you come away with me for a few weeks? I want you to be strong again; and I want to stop some of the Newton Bury gossip. And I want—I want you to learn to love me. For by-and-by—"
Fulvia's voice failed.
"I will do anything you wish," whispered Ethel.
Neither girl could see the other's face. Perhaps it was well,—so full was the one of trembling joy, so grey the other with pain.
* * * * * * *
During full three months the girls were absent, spending their time in the old farm, under the shadow of Scotch mountains.
Ethel and Daisy had never known a happier three months. If Fulvia suffered much, as suffer she undoubtedly did, she was outwardly only cheerful. Ethel became convinced, as Fulvia wished her to be, that Fulvia did not really care—never had really cared for Nigel further than with a sisterly affection. Fulvia knew that Nigel would never undeceive Ethel in this particular, even when he should be her husband.