Lettice sat alone, wondering wearily whether the shadow would ever be lifted. She could see no way out of the trouble. Wondering, too, in what manner Dr. Bryant meant to make a change. She had always been used to go to his study at half-past ten, to see if he wanted any little thing done—a letter copied: a bookshelf or a cabinet arranged. Such small services had been the delight of her heart. But would he expect her this day? Might she venture to go as usual? She tried to weigh the question, to consider what ought to be done: and found it difficult to come to any conclusion. Just before the half-hour, after long hesitation, she rose mechanically, unable to resist; and then she saw Dr. Bryant pass the window, equipped for a walk. It was an hour when ordinarily he never went out . . . Lettice understood, and she burst into a flood of tears.
"While this mystery lasts, things cannot be between us as they have been."
[CHAPTER XII.]
FOUND! AND WHERE!
AS days went on, however, Theodosia was not satisfied. She had had her will: but results did not shape themselves according to her expectations. The money was still lost—so far as Dr. Bryant was concerned—and suspicion pointed its finger direct at Lettice. Moreover, Lettice still declined to refute that suspicion by denial. Yet the separation between her husband and Lettice, for which Theodosia craved, had not come about. Though the Doctor called himself "displeased" with Lettice, it was a calm and affectionate displeasure, devoid of heat; rather indeed an acknowledgment of what he ought to feel, than a showing of what he really felt. He did not believe that Lettice had helped herself to the money: he only thought she had not treated him with becoming openness: and he said so to his wife, plainly. No arguments shook his opinion.
Unpaid bills had to be paid, and the Doctor supplied his wife with a £20 cheque uncomplainingly. He would not even tell her how careless she had been—perhaps because it was useless, perhaps because he disliked to rouse her self-assertive annoyance. To suggest that Theodosia had done anything not entirely wise and right, meant always a wordy outburst on her part. In hopes of finding the lost bank-note, he instituted various inquiries, but with no result.
Vain, too, was his effort to shield Lettice from general suspicion. Theodosia took that matter into her own hands, and the Doctor had very limited power over his wife's tongue. If he had but known it, the one real power which he did possess was through Keith's interests, and the future disposition of his money. The one thing which would have restrained Theodosia, would have been the knowledge that aught she said or did might harm her boy's prospects. The crooked path upon which she had entered was for Keith's sake—at least so she counted it to be. Jealousy and ill-temper had also no small hand in the matter. Theodosia knew, and could not forgive, her boy's love for Lettice.
True, the two did not indulge before her in affectionate demonstrations. Keith had sense enough to see that such demonstrations would bring trouble: and as a rule, he abstained, reserving bear-like hugs for Theodosia's absence. But love is not easily hidden for any length of time. Keith might put on spoilt-child airs, and speak with a certain imperiousness to Lettice; yet the look in his eyes when he turned to her was unmistakable.
And even if Theodosia had doubted, the servants and villagers were not loath to supply her with the unwelcome information. "Master Keith do care for Miss Lettice and no wonder!" "He's that devoted to her!" "Well, I says he just worships the ground she treads on!"