"Your sister ought to be able to do better for herself," Edward Marsh said, later on, to his wife. But Fanny, who had had a genuine liking for kind Frank, disagreed for once with the marital opinion. "He was good, and he loved her. She has always that to remember," Gertrude thought, as she watched Lucy going about her business with a calmness that alarmed her more than the most violent expressions of sorrow would have done. "Dear little Frank! I wonder if he is really dead," Phyllis reflected, staring with wide eyes at the house opposite, rather as if she expected to see a ghost issue from the door. Fortunately for the Lorimers they had little time for brooding over their troubles. Their success had proved itself no ephemeral one. As people returned to town, work began to flow in upon them from all sides, and their hands were full. Labour and sorrow, the common human portion, were theirs, and they accepted them with courage, if not, indeed, with resignation. September and October glided by, and now the winter was upon them. [Illustration: Decoration] [Illustration: Decoration] CHAPTER XVIII. PHYLLIS. _Die aeltre Tochter gaehnet "Ich will nicht verhungern bei euch, Ich gehe morgen zum Grafen, Und der ist verliebt und reich."_ HEINE. "Lucy, dear, you must go." "But, Gerty, you can never manage to get through the work alone." "I will make Phyllis help me. It will be the best thing for her, and she works better than any of us when she chooses." The sisters were standing together in the studio, discussing a letter which Lucy held in her hand--an appeal from the heartbroken "old folks" that she, who was to have been their daughter, should visit them in their sorrow. "It is simply your duty to go," went on Gertrude, who was consumed with anxiety concerning her sister; then added, involuntarily, "if you think you can bear it." A light came into Lucy's eyes. "Is there anything that one cannot bear?" She turned away, and began mechanically fixing a negative into one of the printing frames. She remembered how, on that last day, Frank had planned the visit to Cornwall. Was he not going to show her every nook and corner of the old home, which many a time before he had so minutely described to her? The place had for long been familiar to her imagination, and now she was in fact to make acquaintance with it; that was all. What availed it to dwell on contrasts? The sisters spoke little of Lucy's approaching journey, which was fixed for some days after the receipt of the letter; and one cold and foggy November afternoon found her helping Mrs. Maryon with her little box down the stairs, while Matilda went for a cab. At the same moment Gertrude issued from the studio with her outdoor clothes on. "No one is likely to come in this Egyptian darkness," she said; "it is four o'clock already, and I am going to take you to Paddington."