He had written two or three times kindly, but with brevity; expressing no marked regret at losing Lettice, only trusting that she would be happy. What had passed between him and Felix, Lettice could merely conjecture. That a hot letter had gone off in her defence, she did know, though she had not been allowed to see it; and Dr. Bryant's temperate answer, while it made Felix "Pshaw" angrily, was quoted to her only in parts. Lettice knew thus much, that he still counted her guilty, and that his affection for her was not dead. Sometimes she feared that the cloud never would be lifted from her pathway in this life. Once a boyish ill-spelt letter arrived from Keith, vehemently lamenting her defection. "It is horrid without you," he said. "There's nobody to talk to now, and not a scrap of fun." Lettice dared not answer the scrawl with any freedom, nor could she honestly say that she wished to be back. After three months in lodgings, the Valentines were at length in their home once more. They and Lettice met frequently, spending many a spare hour in company. Prue was still the prime favourite of Lettice, but she heartily cared for them all; and Nan had dropped into something of her old awkward devotion to Lettice. Old Mr. Valentine once quaintly styled her his "outside daughter," and the name clung to her thenceforward. Wallace seemed to find particular pleasure in using it. Lettice was most willing to be his sister. Had he wished for a closer tie, he might have found the wish denied; since Lettice was too supremely happy in her new sphere, too entirely wrapped up in Felix, to give her heart easily elsewhere. But though Wallace liked to call, liked to chat with Lettice, and liked to show brotherly kindnesses, he failed to develop into a lover. "I seem to have been years and years here," repeated Lettice, standing to look-out of the window upon the quiet street. It was a warm and bright day, with only the ordinary slight murkiness of atmosphere, which a true Londoner does not so much as perceive. Lettice, being not yet a true Londoner, did perceive it, with a transient recollection of the exquisitely clear air about her country home. "But I would not go there again; oh, not if I could," she went on aloud. "I would do anything for uncle—anything; but until he believes in me again, I cannot make him happy. Being together is not real enjoyment. There is always a sort of shadow between us. And Mrs. Bryant—to live with her. Oh, no! And to leave Felix—so good as he is to me now—dear boy. And I am sure it is right for him—the best thing that could have been, even though it does mean not making money so fast. Prue says it will be the making of him, which is much more important. I want Felix to be a really nice man—a man that everybody may look up to. Who is coming now? I know that way of walking. Why, it is Bertha! Bertha herself."