She stood a moment with the ridiculous bundle in her hand--_Tit-Bits_ and a pink, crushed copy of _The Sporting Times_--then something between a laugh and a sob rose in her throat, the papers fell to the ground, and sinking on her knees by the table, she buried her face in her hands and burst into bitter weeping. Gertrude, coming in from church some ten minutes later, found her sister thus prostrate. The sight unnerved her from its very unusualness; bending over Lucy she whispered, "Am I to go away?" "No, stop here." Gertrude locked the door, then came and knelt by her sister. "Oh, poor Fred, and I was so horrid to him," wept the penitent. "Ah, I was afraid it would come." Gertrude stroked the prone, smooth head; she feared that the thought of some one else besides Fred lay at the bottom of all this disturbance. She was very anxious for Lucy in these days; very anxious and very helpless. There was only one person, she knew too well, who could restore to Lucy her old sweet serenity, and he, alas, made no sign. What was she to think? One thing was clear enough; the old pleasant relationship between themselves and Frank was at an end; if renewed at all, it must be renewed on a different basis. A disturbing element, an element of self-consciousness had crept into it; the delicate charm, the first bloom of simplicity, had departed for ever. It was now the middle of July, and for the last week or two they had seen scarcely anything of Jermyn, beyond the glimpses of him as he lounged up the street, with his sombrero crushed over his eyes, all the impetuosity gone from his gait. That he distinctly avoided them, there could be little doubt. Though he was to be seen looking across at the house wistfully enough, he made no attempt to see them, and his greetings when they chanced to meet were of the most formal nature. The change in his conduct had been so marked and sudden, that it was impossible that it should escape observation. Fanny, with an air of superior knowledge, gave it out as her belief that Mr. Jermyn was in love; Phyllis held to the opinion that he had been fired with the idea of a big picture, and was undergoing the throes of artistic conception; Gertrude said lightly, that she supposed he was out of sorts and disinclined for society; while Lucy held her peace, and indulged in many inward sophistries to convince herself that her own unusual restlessness and languor had nothing to do with their neighbour's disaffection. It was these carefully woven self-deceptions that had been so rudely scattered by Fred's words; and Lucy, kneeling by the scarlet table, had for the first time looked her fate in the face, and diagnosed her own complaint. "Lucy," said Gertrude, after a pause, "bathe your eyes and come for a walk in the Park; there is time before lunch." Lucy rose, drying her wet face with her handkerchief.