Oh, that barrier! Albinia was in uncontrollable distress, that the girl should have chosen to undergo so much suffering rather than bestow any confidence. Sophy stole her hand into hers, and said in her odd, short way, ‘Never mind, it did not signify.’ ‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Dusautoy, ‘those things are just what one does get so much used to, that it seems much easier to bear them than to speak about them.’ ‘But to let oneself be so driven about,’ cried Albinia. ‘Oh! Sophy, you will never do so again! If I had ever guessed--’ ‘Please hush! Never mind!’ said Sophy, almost crossly, and getting up from the floor quickly, as though resolved to be well. ‘I have never minded long enough,’ sighed Albinia. ‘What shall I do, Mrs. Dusautoy? What do you think it is?’ This was the last question Mrs. Dusautoy wished to be asked in Sophy’s presence. She had little doubt that it was spine complaint like her own, but she had not intended to let her perceive the impression, till after having seen Mrs. Kendal alone. However, Albinia’s impetuosity disconcerted all precautions, and Sophy’s two great black eyes were rounded with suppressed terror, as if expecting her doom. ‘I think that a doctor ought to answer that question,’ Mrs. Dusautoy began. ‘Yes, yes,’ exclaimed Albinia, ‘but I never had any faith in old Mr. Bowles, I had rather go to a thorough good man at once.’ ‘Yes, certainly, by all means.’ ‘And then to whom! I will write to my Aunt Mary. It seems exactly like you. Do you think it is the spine?’ ‘I am afraid so. But, my dear,’ holding out her hand caressingly to Sophy, ‘you need not be frightened--you need not look at me as an example of what you will come to--I am only an example of what comes of never speaking of one’s ailments.’ ‘And of having no mother to find them out!’ cried Albinia. ‘Indeed,’ said Mrs. Dusautoy, anxious to console and encourage, as well as to talk the young step-mother out of her self-reproach, ‘I do not think that if I had been my good aunt’s own child, she would have been more likely to find out that anything was amiss. It was the fashion to be strong and healthy in that house, and I was never really ill--but I came as a little stunted, dwining cockney, and so I was considered ever after--never quite comfortable, often forgetting myself in enjoyment, paying for it afterwards, but quite used to it. We all thought it was “only Fanny,” and part of my London breeding. Yes, we thought so in good faith, even after the largest half of my life had been spent in Yorkshire.’ ‘And what brought it to a crisis? Did they go on neglecting you?’ exclaimed Albinia.