"Perhaps you think I put it there." Theodosia had so accustomed herself to the present state of things, and to continuous deceit, that she could say such words without a change of colour, almost without a twinge of conscience. Conscience, habitually unresponded to, becomes in time deadened, and loses its power to speak. Theodosia had set before herself a certain end, and that end she was in a fair way to attain. She had not indeed yet found out what were the terms of her husband's will, but she had brought about estrangement between him and Lettice; and for the continuance of their estrangement, nothing perhaps could be better than Lettice's absence. This dawned upon her in a flash; and it was at once subversive of her previous policy with regard to Lettice's friends. There was a pause, Lettice looking earnestly at Theodosia; and the change of colour, which had not come with Theodosia's own utterance, began under the pressure of that quiet gaze. Lettice noticed, but attached little meaning to the flush. "No," she said slowly, "I should not like to accuse you or anybody of such a thing, unless I were very very sure. It is too terrible, and I know too well how hard it is to bear being falsely accused. Sometimes I almost think you know a little more than you will allow,—I mean, that you could perhaps help to clear me, if you would . . . But I do not know how. It is only a feeling . . . Why do you dislike me so? I have tried hard to please you ever since I came here; and it seems of no use." "If not you—then your brother—" "You do not suspect him, really," Lettice answered, with the calmness borne of long endurance. "If you did, you would have spoken long ago. Felix was not once in my room after lunch that day; so how could he possibly have put the note into my box? But talking does no good. I cannot clear myself yet. The truth will come out some day. Do you wish me to go to the Valentines?" "Yes." "For a month or six weeks?" "For as long as you like." "When?" "Whenever you please." "I will ask Dr. Bryant." "There's no need to trouble him. I shall explain, of course." "He would have wanted me to speak—" "Before he knew you to be a—" The lying word stuck in Theodosia's throat. "I shall speak to him all the same," Lettice answered resolutely. "If he wished me not to go—but I think he will be willing. To-day is Monday. I can ask if the Valentines would like to have me on Friday or Saturday." Theodosia merely said, "Very well," and walked away. Dr. Bryant entering immediately after, Lettice put the question before him. "You wish to go?" he said, in the measured voice which had become habitual. "If you do not mind, uncle?" "No. It is quite as well. Fix your own plans; and I will supply the money." She looked wistfully into his face, longing for a touch of the old kindness. "If I thought you wanted me, I would rather—rather stay here."