"You could not. You couldn't say anything unkind, when she is in trouble. And Felix, dear, you would not. I am sure of that. If you knew how she cares for that boy. It will almost kill her to lose him. O no; I am not afraid."
"I don't think you need be,—" in rather an odd voice. "But I do wonder what is the matter. I do wonder whether he may not, after all, get well!"
"Telegrams don't give very abundant information. You'll like to leave a message for the Valentines?"
"I had written to Prue, before you came in. I'll just add a word of postscript . . . What a day this has been. I am so glad for Prue! But oh, that poor little Keith! Felix, if you knew how loving he was to me before I came away: and how he said he would miss me. Oh, I hope we shall be in time!"
"Here comes supper. Now, mind, if you don't eat, you don't go!" Felix spoke with a determined air of authority.
[CHAPTER XIX.]
RETRIBUTION.
THE next few hours were to Lettice one prolonged whirl. She did what had to be done, with some measure of outward quietness; but her mind was in a dizzy tumult of feeling. After all that had passed, it seemed such a fearful reverse for Theodosia! Lettice forgot injuries to herself, and her whole heart went out in passionate pity to that unhappy woman, who in losing Keith might almost be said to lose her all.
Felix said little during the journey, but he saw to everything, looked well after Lettice, and made her lie down on the seat, while nobody except themselves occupied the compartment. She found herself involuntarily tracing and retracing the course of late events. Things had turned out utterly unlike all previous expectations. But for Theodosia's determined antagonism, she might not have come to London at this time, and she might never have lived again with Felix! This new phase of affairs had sprung from a chain of circumstances over which she had small control; not one of which, separately viewed, could have been deemed likely to produce any such result.
"I suppose things often are so," she meditated, reposing in the lamplight, with the rush of the train in her ears. "And after all, it has been worth going through the trouble, to bring about my home with Felix. Yes; worth the whole. I would not undo a single step, if it must mean undoing that too . . . I never fancied Felix could be what he is now to me. Three months ago, if I could have looked ahead, how little I should have cared about Mrs. Bryant's unkindness . . . At least it would have been a different feeling altogether—not desolate! I do care now: but I shall be cleared some day, quite cleared. I am sure of it. And meantime life is so happy! How can I help being contented? . . . That poor little Keith? Ought I to be glad about anything, when he is dying?"