"Of course it has all been very trying for you," he said at length, finding some remark expected.
"Felix, what did she mean? I have not liked to ask anybody, but I don't understand. I want to do what she said, and I don't know how. What did she mean?"
"I wish she had never come to this house," was Felix's answer.
"O no—if we hadn't—and it made her so much happier—not afraid! I should be afraid." One sob, long pent-up, had at length its way, and Lettice pressed her forehead against his shoulder. "O Sissie! O Felix, I don't know how to bear it!"
"You've got to be brave," said Felix, by way of impotent comfort.
"I do try. I do try. But I shall be so lonely," sobbed the girl, and Felix had no help to offer.
[CHAPTER VIII.]
FROM READING TO BRISTOL.
SAY what Felix might, he could not send Lettice off that day, before his own departure by the night-train; and he could gain no promise from the Valentines, further than that Lettice should travel westwards "so soon as Mr. Jasper allowed it." Lettice was powerless against that fiat; and Felix knew it. Inwardly, he fumed; outwardly, he urged the advantages of change. Lettice was growing morbid, he declared.
"She has gone through enough to make her morbid," said Prue. Then, without warning, came the question: "Did you give my message to Mr. Kelly?"