"I'm sorry," said Priscilla, hastily turning the Æschylus right side up again; and by launching forth into a long and extremely bitter dissertation on the various ways persons of no intellectual conscience have of ill-treating books, he got rid of some of his agitation and fixed her attention for the time on questions less fraught with complications than clothes from Paris. About half-past two they were still sitting over the eggs and bread and butter that Priscilla ordered three times a day and that Fritzing ate with unquestioning obedience, when the Shuttleworth victoria stopped in front of the cottage and Lady Shuttleworth got out. Fritzing, polite man, hastened to meet her, pushing aside the footman and offering his arm. She looked at him vaguely, and asked if his niece were at home. "Certainly," said Fritzing, leading her into Priscilla's parlour. "Shall I inquire if she will receive you?" "Do," said Lady Shuttleworth, taking no apparent notice of the odd wording of this question. "Tussie isn't well," she said the moment Priscilla appeared, fixing her eyes on her face but looking as though she hardly saw her, as though she saw past her, through her, to something beyond, while she said a lesson learned by rote. "Isn't he? Oh I'm sorry," said Priscilla. "He caught cold last Sunday at your treat. He oughtn't to have run those races with the boys. He can't--stand--much." Priscilla looked at her questioningly. The old lady's face was quite set and calm, but there had been a queer catch in her voice at the last words. "Why does he do such things, then?" asked Priscilla, feeling vaguely distressed. "Ah yes, my dear--why? That is a question for you to answer, is it not?" "For me?" "On Tuesday night," continued Lady Shuttleworth, "he was ill when he left home to come here. He would come. It was a terrible night for a delicate boy to go out. And he didn't stay here, I understand. He went out to buy something after closing time, and stood a long while trying to wake the people up." "Yes," said Priscilla, feeling guilty, "I--that was my fault. He went for me." "Yes my dear. Since then he has been ill. I've come to ask you if you'll drive back with me and see if--if you cannot persuade him that you are happy. He seems to be much--troubled." "Troubled?" "He seems to be afraid you are not happy. You know," she added with a little quavering smile, "Tussie is very kind. He is very unselfish. He takes everybody's burdens on his shoulders. He seems to be quite haunted by the idea that your life here is unendurably uncomfortable, and it worries him dreadfully that he can't get to you to set things straight. I think if he were to see you, and you were very cheerful, and--and smiled, my dear, it might help to get him over this." "Get him over this?" echoed Priscilla. "Is he so ill?" Lady Shuttleworth looked at her and said nothing. "Of course I'll come," said Priscilla, hastily ringing the bell.