“Had I been in her place,” thought Becky, “I should, for very shame’s sake, if not out of consideration for the dead, have been less free with my tongue. I would have run every risk rather than have allowed myself to be the talking-stock of the whole country. Lydia Holdfast must be a poor, weak creature. Can I do nothing, nothing?”
Becky’s lips quivered, and had she not been sustained by a high purpose, she might have sought relief in tears.
“Let me set down my thoughts in plain words,” she said aloud. “I shall then be able to judge more clearly.”
She produced pen, ink, and paper, and wrote the names:
“Mr. Holdfast.
“Lydia Holdfast.
“Frederick Holdfast.”
She gazed at the names and said,
“My lover’s name is Frederick.”