Lettice had ceased to cry, but she was very silent, and her eyes wore a strained, frightened look which it was sad to see in so young a face. Everyone was studiedly kind to her, but Lettice was sensitive enough to feel the effort which lay behind the kindness. Norah alone was just as loving and whole-hearted as ever. Dear Norah! she had been shocked and distressed beyond measure, but how loyally she had kept her promise to help "every moment of the time"! During those two first awful days, what a comfort it had been to have her near; to clutch that strong, faithful hand when the others came into the room, and looked on from afar with cold, sad eyes! Norah was the same, but all the rest had changed. They had been grieved, shocked, humiliated by her behaviour, and though she was nominally forgiven, the chill ring of disapproval sounded in every word they spoke, and Lettice faded like a flower deprived of light and sunshine. Instead of gaining strength by the change she grew every day paler, thinner, and more ghost-like, until at last her father became alarmed, and questioned her closely as to her health. "Does your head ache, Lettice?" "No, father." "Do you sleep well at night?" "I think--sometimes I do, father. Pretty well." "Have you any pain?" Lettice raised her eyes and looked at him--a look such as a wounded stag might cast at its executioner. She trembled like a leaf, and clasped her hands round his arm in an agony of appeal. "Oh, father, father! I am _all_ pain. I think of it day and night--it never leaves me. I think I shall see it before me all my life." "See what, Lettice? What do you mean?" "_His face_!" quivered Lettice, and was silent. Mr Bertrand knew that she was referring to the stricken look with which Arthur Newcome had left the room where he had received the deathblow to his hopes, and the remembrance brought a cloud across his own face. "Ay! I don't wonder at that; but it will only add to our trouble, Lettice, if you fell ill--and we have had enough anxiety." He was conscious of not being very sympathetic, but his feeling was so strong on the subject that he could not control his words, and when Lettice spoke again it was with no reference to herself. "Father, do you think he will ever--forget?--get over it?" Mr Bertrand hesitated. "With most young men I should have said unhesitatingly--yes! but I think Arthur Newcome will probably remember longer than most, though I sincerely hope he will recover in time. But at the best, Lettice, you have caused him bitter pain and humiliation, and, what is worse, have shaken his faith in women for the rest of his life."