Lettice ran out to open the front door, and Bertha presented a rosy cheek to be kissed. The two had never met since Cecilia's death: and those smiling eyes awakened a rush of memories. Not altogether sad memories. Lettice could not but feel how Cecilia would have rejoiced in the present arrangement. "Bertha! How good of you! I knew you were to be at home for just one day, and I meant to leave you all to yourselves so carefully." "And I meant not to be defrauded of a peep! Let me look at you. Yes, just as they say. The same, only more." "More what?" "Any agreeable adjectives that you like to string together. So you really are settled down with your brother—busy, and well, and happy! No need to ask if you are that." "Sometimes I wonder if any girl is quite so well off as I am. Of course there are some things—I don't mean that I have every single thing in life I could choose. Only I do delight in being with Felix always, and having a little home so near all your dear people." "I'm sure they are equally delighted to have you near." "Sit down, please; if you can spare just a few minutes. And you are fond of nursing as ever? Not tired of it?" "Tired! Never! Yes, I know what you mean by the 'something' that you want. Prue told me, of course. She knew you would not mind." "About the bank-note?" "It is a horrid shame, Lettice. That is all I can say. And you are the dearest little angel to bear it as you do. There—now you know what I think." "Ah, you can't tell how I have often felt. Anything but angelic!" "I can only toll how you haven't acted. I couldn't have borne it so in your place, that is certain. Never mind. Your brother understands, and so do we. So would anybody that really knows you, as mother and Prue and I do. Those people near Bristol don't signify. If I were you, I would just ignore their existence. A set of—" "O no; I am very fond of uncle Maurice, and of Keith." "So much the more shame for them. To treat you in such a way; you, with that dear little transparent face of yours. How anybody, with a grain of commonsense in his brain, could look at you for half a second, and believe that you could do such a thing—! It's perfectly insane!" "I don't think your nursing-work has tamed you down yet," Lettice said, smiling. Bertha's eager defence could not but be pleasant. "It never will—if that means turning me into an automaton. I'm subdued enough in a sick room; but I hope I always shall have a little indignation to explode on injustice . . . Now I won't talk of that any more, or I shall be saying too much . . . Though I don't see that any blame could be too strong . . . To turn to something else. What do you think of Prue?" "Of Prue?" "Yes. Is she well? Is she happy?" "She is always so good to me," said Lettice slowly. "And I think—one doesn't seem to expect Prue to be anything but well."