Some impulse made Fulvia turn first to the half-sheet; and in a moment she saw that it was not intended for herself. She glanced at the sheet—yes, that began all right, "My dear Fulvia;" but this had "My dear fellow." Fulvia read on, notwithstanding. A kind of fascination seemed to hold her eyes to the page. It was fascination which might have been, and ought to have been, resisted. Conscience cried loudly, yet she did not resist. She read on straight and fast to the end. A gleam came to her eyes, and a glow to her cheeks. For some seconds she had only one distinct sense—that of an overwhelming joy. Nothing else could matter now—now—if Nigel and she were to be one! The wish of his father!—The wish of Mr. Carden-Cox!—The desire of Nigel himself!—What then could hinder? But upon this came a rush of yet more overwhelming shame at her own action, seen in imagination with Nigel's eyes. The shame bowed her forward, till her face rested upon her knees, and the flush of joy deepened into a fixed burning of brow and cheeks. What had she done? What had she been about? Nigel's letter!—But she could not let Nigel have it! He must never know that her eyes had read those words—Oh, never! Cold chills shot through her at the very thought. Anice was coming back. Fulvia heard the approaching steps, and dire need brought composure. She thrust the half-sheet deep into a pocket of her dressing-gown, pushed away the candle that her face might be in shade, and began quietly to read her own letter. "From Mr. Carden-Cox?" asked Anice, recognising the cramped hand. "Anything particular?" "Nothing much. Just chit-chat! He seems getting tired of Burrside already." "He always does in a day or two." "Or a week or two." Unobservant Anice noticed nothing unusual in Fulvia's shaking hands or crimson face; but the next moment Daisy rushed in. "Oh, did I make a noise? I'm sorry. I quite forgot. Why, Fulvie—what a colour you are! As red as beetroot! Cousin Jamie would say you were feverish." "Nonsense. What have you there?" "Only a postscript from Mr. Carden-Cox for you. It went to Nigel by mistake. I can't imagine what Mr. Carden-Cox has been about. He sent another to me instead of to Ethel. You haven't one too, I suppose, meant for somebody else? Only that sheet—" as Fulvia pointed to the one lying on her knee. "Fulvie! I say! I'm sure you are not so well this evening. What is the matter? Anything Mr. Carden-Cox has said? I shall have to call madre. Why, your hands are like fire, and beating as if they were alive. I can feel them." Fulvia snatched the said hands petulantly away. "Nonsense! Don't. I wish you would not tease. I will not have a word said to madre, and I only want to be quiet. There is such an amount of talk and bustle, and my head is wild." Daisy grew gentle. "I'm sorry. We won't talk any more," she said in a penitent voice. "Fulvie, if you just get into bed, I'll only help you and not say a word. Please do." Fulvia leant back, and shut her eyes.