The amazed Lettice found herself laid flat on the cushions. Automatically she rose up, reacting like a bent twig; instantly she was pressed back again.
"No, you must lie still. I saw you at Brussels, looking as ill as ill, even then. Are you ill, or is it only the traveling that's upset you?"
"I had a bad crossing," said Lettice, in a tone that was almost surly.
"A bad crossing? You came over last night? Then I don't wonder at anything. My flask, Louisa—no, that's the eau-de-Cologne, how stupid you are! I'm going to give you a liqueur; brandy's hateful, and no good at all, but a curaçao does pull you together. Open your mouth—that's right—"
Lettice had opened her mouth to say she did not like liqueurs, but she was given no time; her zealous nurse immediately poured the dose down her throat. This was an outrage—it was forcible feeding—and on Lettice, of all people! Lettice, who could not bear so much as to be touched against her will! Coughing in the most lady-like way, pink with choking and with injured dignity, she presented a pathetic sight for any one with eyes to see. Dorothea had none.
"You aren't one bit fit to be going about alone and looking after yourself," she said, in a mixture of severity and solicitude. "You ought to be in bed! Are you cold?—why, your hands are like lumps of ice! My cloak, Louisa. When we get to the hotel you shall have a hot bottle and I'll see after you properly. No, don't try to talk."
Hitherto Lettice had expressed no gratitude, but now, having been told to keep silence, she said "Thank you," in a tone of acid obstinacy. It is trying to be done good to against your will. Nobody had ever before attempted such a liberty with Lettice. Denis might lecture, but he never dreamed of enforcing his advice; while her own sisters would have laughed at the possibility. "Make Lettice do what she doesn't choose?" cried Rosabel. "You might just as well argue with the leg of that table!"
Lettice, of course, did not agree with them; she considered herself to be of a yielding disposition, bordering on flabbiness; but there are things the meekest cannot stand. The moment Dorothea's back was turned she rose up and put on her hat again. After that she felt happier, if less comfortable. Lettice was one of those persons who are never really happy when they are comfortable; instinctive dread of slackness (springing by rebound from innate love of luxury) drove her to deny her body in order to ease her soul. Certainly her body was not at ease. Violent remedies did not suit her. It might have been the curaçao, or the insult, or both of them together, but her sensations were growing acute.
She saw nothing when they plunged into a rick dark green valley of woods. She was blind to the silvery splendors of distant hills and river. They turned into a wide courtyard and drew up. Lettice saw only that the Hôtel Bellevue had many piazzas and balconies, all full of people, all watching the arrival of the coach. Dorothea descended on one side. Her patient slipped out on the other and made towards the door.
"Why, Lettice!"