Lettice neither spoke nor stirred.
She was leaning back in a low chair, with closed eyes.
"Lettice!"
"Asleep, I think," said Mr. Kelly.
"I had no idea she was here at all. Lettice!"
The absence of response was a matter of positive incapacity to speak. Lettice heard, of course; but voices sounded far-away; and the floor seemed to mount with her; and heart and head were beating in thick throbs. She wondered dimly—could she get up, if she tried? A nightmare sensation of helplessness weighed her down; and she craved to be let alone, not to be dragged back into what had become all at once a changed world to her. And yet, she would have to shake off this stupefaction. She would have to wake up and smile and talk. Only another moment's delay, and then—
"How odd of the child to drop asleep so suddenly! I never knew her do it before."
"She seems very sound. I don't think she can have heard us."
Mr. Kelly stepped behind the couch, and laid a hand on Lettice's arm. She had not expected the touch, and it startled her into a sitting posture instantaneously. The start seemed, as indeed it was, perfectly natural.
"Lettice, is anything the matter? Come here," said Cecilia.