"Nothing in particular on the sea, I dare say, but something very particular in your mind. What are you dreaming about? . . . Now I mean to know . . . What was it? Dr. Bryant?"
"No."
"Or me?"
"Or Sissie?"
Lettice half faltered a "No," and stopped. "Not exactly," she said faintly. She had been thinking rather of life without Sissie, at that moment.
"You were dreaming about Sis: something or other. What was it? Now I mean to know, so it's no earthly use your trying to hide it. Has Sis been making you and herself miserable about this Bristol plan?—Worrying because she can't teach? If she has, you must just not let her. Things can't be helped, and it's no use to fret."
"Sissie doesn't say much—"
"But she thinks; and you know what she is thinking about. Is that it?"
Lettice's lips formed a "No."
"Then you are bothering your own brains about the journey. That's nothing. It will all go off as well as possible. Nothing to mind!"