It did not seem to be a success. Cecilia opened her eyes, drew her brows slightly together, and with an impatient gesture pulled away the hand which Lettice touched.
"Couldn't I do anything for you?" pleaded the younger girl.
"Only leave me in peace, if you please."
The sharpness of tone sprang from bitter pain, and Lettice knew it: but none the less, she found that sharpness hard to bear. Was not the same pain of parting hers? She too wanted comfort, and she might have found comfort in comforting Cecilia, had not that been denied her? The check was just the one drop too much, and tears came thickly, obscuring her vision as they fell. She was too much absorbed to hear the slight bustle of somebody stepping in at the further end, and she did not at first notice that the train was again in motion. It was needful to master herself, before Cecilia's attention should be drawn and this proved not easy.
Presently the fact dawned upon her that she and Cecilia were no longer alone. Somebody sat opposite to herself—somebody at first indistinct through the haze of tears, but taking shape in time as a girl several years older than herself, dressed in a navy-blue serge costume of severe outlines, a long black cloak, and a black bonnet with white strings. The newcomer had dark eyes and pretty rosy cheeks: and she was bending a little forward, to study Lettice.
"What is the matter, you poor little thing?" came in soft tones.
"Oh—it doesn't matter," said Lettice, endeavouring to sit upright and to assume a sprightly air.
"Everything matters that makes people unhappy."
"O no, I'm only—stupid. I'm always stupid."
"Are you? I should not have thought so. You don't look stupid."