Lettice made her way slowly, not to the drawing room direct, but to her own room first. She hardly knew how to meet Theodosia; to meet her injurer, and make no sign. Beneath an outer strained calm lay a seething turmoil of indignation. If that should break bounds, what might she not say or do, in this hour of bitter resentment? Lettice dropped on her knees by the bedside, with face hidden, crying out voicelessly for the help needed; and ten minutes of wrestling went by before she dared to venture downstairs. "You seem fond of cold tea," Theodosia observed, carelessly handing her a cup. Lettice made no answer in words. Their eyes met: Theodosia's handsome and repellent, albeit capable of pleasant regards when their owner chose; Lettice's constrained and inwardly dark with some new meaning, which Theodosia could not read. The same was inscribed also, though no more legibly, in the firm set of the white lips. Theodosia tossed her head; and Lettice went to a chair, again trembling, so that she had to put down her cup. "What have you been doing upstairs?" demanded Theodosia. "Helping Keith." "Is that all?" "And—talking." The recollection of what had passed swept over Lettice afresh. Theodosia to have deliberately done such a deed, and to go about for weeks after with no sign of guilty consciousness: it seemed incredible! She had a sense of shuddering repulsion; and she remained with downcast eyes, almost forgetting where she was, only conscious of Theodosia's vicinity. "What is the matter?" asked Dr. Bryant's voice. "Nothing," Lettice began to say, and checked herself, for it would not be true. "Something, surely." "I have a headache." "Since when? You had no headache at lunch." "It came on—since." "Upstairs?" "Yes." "Why do you not take your tea? Have you had some already?" "No." Lettice put out her hand, and then found the cup held to her lips. "Stay; this is too cold to do you any good. Have you none hotter, Theodosia?" "If Lettice chooses to dawdle upstairs, she must take the consequences!" "There may be reasonable excuse for delay. Has anything happened to upset her?" "How should I know! She has had a letter from the Valentines." Dr. Bryant rang the bell and ordered fresh tea. Then he returned to Lettice. "From the Valentines? About your visit? Any disappointment?" "O no. I am to go—" "When?" "Friday, I think. If you do not mind." "I do not mind what is for your good. I should like to know the cause of your state at this moment." Lettice could not meet his gaze of grave solicitude. It went to her heart to know how dear she was to him still, even though he could believe her guilty of so despicable an act, and even though the old tenderness of manner was absent. To let him go on thinking this thing of her, when by a word she might clear her name, was hard indeed, yet that she might not do, because of her promise. The strain and distress were almost more than she knew how to bear. She hid her face in her hands.