"Yes. We went to his Church. He thought himself bound to put questions to me about myself. Perhaps he was, but I was not bound to answer them. As if—" and a pause. "But sometimes—now—" another pause.
"Sometimes now, you would wish to see him again, perhaps. Is that it?" The red spots deepened as Prue spoke.
"No, not exactly. I did not mean that, exactly. One cannot always explain . . . I want Lettice, and they will not let her come. It is cruel—so ill as I am."
"Lettice loves you dearly." Prue could have clung to the other subject, but she would not.
"Well, yes—perhaps. She has always been with me,—always—in those old days. Past now! They can never come back!"
"The past does not come back. It is always going on to something fresh; until we reach Home."
"I have no home. It is behind—with Felix."
"And mine is before—with Jesus." Prue spoke low and reverently. She seldom revealed so much of her true self; but Cecilia's need appealed strongly.
A flickering smile crossed the other's face. "You! A mere girl!" she said, not realising that Prue was scarcely seven years her junior. "What can you know of life?"
"More perhaps than you would suppose . . . I have a dear home here, but the real Home is there."