Lettice was down early next morning, somewhat unexpectedly, since the Doctor had sent word that she might stay in bed to breakfast. The advice was not followed. She looked unusually pale, and her eyes were heavy with sleeplessness: but Dr. Bryant was strongly impressed at first sight with the peaceful calm of those brown eyes. It seemed to him that she must have come straight from Communion with the unseen world, with the Divine Lord, to Whom she was used to refer all her difficulties. Dr. Bryant, albeit a man of few words on religious subjects, knew what such communion meant . . . That the face of a thief! Impossible. For ten minutes he had not a shadow of doubt as to her innocence. "Why did you not stay upstairs?" he asked. "I didn't think I need." "Well, you must eat a good breakfast." This was by no means what Theodosia had looked for: and she tossed her head. "Mamsie says Lettice is a wicked girl. Is she?" asked Keith, glancing from one to another. "Mamsie says she has taken a lot of money that belongs to somebody else." The spoilt home-boy was childish for his years, in voice and mode of expression. Theodosia did her best to keep him a permanent baby. "Theodosia!" The Doctor spoke sternly. "Keith gives his own version of affairs," she answered carelessly. "Children are always outspoken." "You had no business to say a word to him about the matter. I told you that it was to go no further." Theodosia tossed her head again, with no sign of regret or submission. "Did Lettice do it?" asked the boy. "It is no concern of yours. Hold your tongue, and attend to your own concerns," commanded Dr. Bryant. Then, as he noticed the whitening circle round Lettice's lips, he added gently, "Go into the drawing room, Lettice. I will take a cup of tea to you there." "Is that the way you mean to bring her to confession?" asked Theodosia. "I do not know. Another cup of tea, if you please." "She has not taken half that—and your egg will get cold." "Let it." The Doctor himself emptied Lettice's cup, held it out to be refilled, and took a slice of dry toast. "Mind!" he said to his wife as he went. "If you do not silence that boy's chatter, I will take means to do so." Then, making his way to the drawing room, he placed the cup and toast on a small table beside Lettice, saying simply—"This first." "I don't think I can eat," she whispered. "You must." She obeyed silently, at whatever cost: and he took the empty cup away. On his return, he stood watching the girl's downcast face, unobserved, for two or three minutes. Had she forgotten his presence? It might seem so, from her start when he spoke. "Tell me now, child. I cannot go on in uncertainty. I promise to accept your word without hesitation. Did you—or did you not—touch the bank-note?"