But Lettice had “hardened her heart.”
“We must go to that place,” she said afterwards to Nina; “we cannot help ourselves. For my part I feel perfectly indifferent as to where we live. It is like a choice of prisons—simple endurance for the time being. It is like taking medicine. I will take it because I must; but I’m not going to have it dressed up with sugar-plums and pretend it’s nice.”
“But what do you mean by ‘for the time being’?” asked Nina timidly.
To this Lettice would not reply; perhaps, though she would not own it, her ideas were really vague on the subject.
Arthur had to be up early the morning he left; and, thanks to their late talk the night before, Nina overslept herself, and Lettice, seeing her looking so tired and pale, had not the heart to wake her. She looked pale and heavy-eyed herself when Arthur found her waiting to give him his breakfast, and he felt sorry for her, and perhaps a little conscience-smitten for some of the things he had said of her.
“We shall see you again before very long,” she said; “for surely no difficulty will be put in the way of your spending your holidays with us.”
“Of course not. Who would dream of such a thing?” he said.
“I don’t know,” replied Lettice wearily; “everything has gone so strangely. I ask myself what next?”
“Lettice,” said Arthur simply, “don’t exaggerate; but, to make sure, I will speak of it to Godfrey.”
“Better you than I, certainly.”