"Yes. The Duchess has told Roddy about—about Francis—or I think she has. Roddy's said nothing to me, but I ought to speak to him, to tell him.... I've put it off."
Lizzie said softly. "You must tell him, Rachel. You know that you must. It's the only thing. I thought it would come to that sooner or later."
"But it's more than that. I'm not well. I don't know what it is, but I've never felt like it before, and it makes me more frightened than I've ever been. To-night I've been more frightened."
But Lizzie was thinking.
"Has your grandmother told many people?"
"I don't know. I know nothing; that's what makes it so hard. It's all had a climax to-night. There was an awful dinner at old Lady Carloes' and it was so hot and stuffy that I nearly fainted. I had to leave. And then, coming here ..."
Rachel began to tremble again and, creeping close to Lizzie, she held her tighter.
"Lizzie ... in the cab coming here ... Francis ... I had such thoughts. I couldn't have believed...."
Lizzie's eyes gazed out into the square, far away—not like a Pool to-night, Mr. Breton. All hard and cruel and even the Nymph has no softness.
She kissed Rachel. "It's the night, dear. When the weather's like this it affects one. London's awful to-night. There'll be such a storm soon."