“Is she better?” Abraham asked her one day.
“It is hard to know, Mr. Hall. She writes just as she feels at the moment. I am afraid she fears to return to the office.”
“Perhaps it does not suit her.”
“I suppose not. She thinks some other kind of life would be better for her. I dare say it would.”
“Could I do anything?” asked the man very slowly.
Could he do anything? well; yes. Lucy at least thought that he could do a great deal. There was one thing which, if he would do it, would make Sophy at any rate believe herself to be well. And this sickness was not organic,—was not, as it appeared, due to any cause which could be specified. It had not as yet been called by any name,—such as consumption. General debility had been spoken of both by the office doctor and by him at Hastings. Now Lucy certainly thought that a few words from Mr. Hall would do more than all the doctors in the way of effecting a cure. Sophy hated the telegraph office, and she lacked the strength of mind necessary for doing that which was distasteful to her. And that idea of a husband had taken such hold of her, that nothing else seemed to her to give a prospect of contentment. “Why don’t you go down and see her, Mr. Hall?” she said.
Then he was silent for awhile before he answered,—silent and very thoughtful. And Lucy as the sound of her own words rested on her ears felt she had done wrong in asking such a question. Why should he go down, unless indeed he were in love with the girl and prepared to ask her to be his wife? If he were to go down expressly to visit her at Hastings unless he were so prepared, what false hopes he would raise; what damage he would do instead of good! How indeed could he possibly go down on such a mission without declaring to all the world that he intended to make the girl his wife? But it was necessary that the question should be answered. “I could do no good by that,” he said.
“No; perhaps not. Only I thought——”
“What did you think?” Now he asked a question and showed plainly by his manner that he expected an answer.
“I don’t know,” said Lucy blushing. “I suppose I ought not to have thought anything. But you seemed to be so fond of her.”