'Nelly!'
Nelly turned slowly, and Bridget saw that she had a letter in her hand.
Bridget ran up to her.
'Have you heard anything?'
'He did write to me!—he did!—just the last minute—in the trench. I knew he must. He gave it to an engineer officer who was going back to Headquarters, to post. The officer was badly wounded as he went back. They've sent it me from France. The waiter brought me the letter just after you'd gone down.'
The words came in little panting gasps.
Then, suddenly, she slipped down beside the table at which Bridget had been working, and hid her face. She was crying. But it was very difficult weeping—with few tears. The slight frame shook from top to toe.
Bridget stood by her, not knowing what to do. But she was conscious of a certain annoyance that she couldn't begin at once on the subject of the flat. She put her hand awkwardly on her sister's shoulder.
'Don't cry so. What does he say?'
Nelly did not answer for a little. At last she said, her face still buried—
'It was only—to tell me—that he loved me—'