"She is always so good to me," said Lettice slowly. "And I think—one doesn't seem to expect Prue to be anything but well."
"Because she never talks about herself. She never contrives to draw attention to the matter. You don't hear Prue informing other people, unasked, how she has slept, and how she has eaten, and what are her latest sensations."
"No; that is it. Prue always seems to go quietly on just the same, whatever she feels. She does look very pale sometimes—and she is thin—but all this worry about the home—and the shock of the chimney falling—"
"My theory is different. Prue does not look as she should look: but I don't believe the chimneys have had much to do with the matter. I believe it is wholly and entirely Mr. Kelly."
Lettice opened her lips, and shut them again.
"Nothing but Mr. Kelly," repeated Bertha, watching Lettice critically.
"I never thought of such a thing."
"You know Mr. Kelly well."
"He comes to see us sometimes, not often. He has always been kind to Felix; and now I do a little work in the Parish for him."
"And you find him pleasant?"