The elder sister could not give herself to full enjoyment of these days. Much as she delighted to be with Thyrza, there was always one and the same drawback to her pleasure in the meetings. Thyrza was so unfeignedly cheerful that Lydia could by no effort get rid of her suspicion that she was being deceived. She shrank from reopening the subject, because it was so disagreeable to her to pronounce Egremont's name; because, too, she could not betray doubt without offending Thyrza. It was hard to distrust Thyrza, yet how account for the girl's most strange apparent happiness? Even now, though under troubled health, her sister's spirits were good. Far more easily Lydia could have suspected Mrs. Ormonde of some duplicity, yet here she was checked by instincts of gratitude, and by a sense of shame. Mrs. Ormonde did not certainly impress her as likely to be deceitful. Still, though she would not specify accusation, Lydia felt, was convinced indeed, that something very material was being kept from her. It was a cruel interference with the completeness of her sympathy in all the conversation between Thyrza and herself. 'So you are friends again with Mary Bower,' Thyrza said, soon after they had met. 'Do you go and have tea with her on Sundays sometimes?' 'No, she comes to me.' 'And you go to chapel?' Thyrza laughed, seeing Lydia look down. 'Poor Lyddy, what a trial it always was to you! Do you mind it so much now?' They were sitting on the beach. Lydia picked up pebbles and threw them away. 'I don't think about it as I used to, Thyrza,' she replied, quietly, after a short pause. 'I go now because I like to go.' 'Do you, dear?' Thyrza said, doubtfully, feeling there was a change and not understanding it. 'You always liked the singing, you know.' 'Yes, I like the singing. But there's more than that. I like it all now.' 'Do you?' said Thyrza, in yet a more uncertain voice. Lydia looked up and smiled brightly. 'We won't talk about it now, dearest. Some day we will, though--a good long talk. When we are again together. If we ever shall be together again, Thyrza.' 'I think so, Lyddy. I hope so. At all events, we shall see each other very often.' 'Very often? Not always together?' Thyrza was silent, but said presently: 'Perhaps. We can't tell, Lyddy.' 'But you don't _think_ we shall. You don't _hope_ we shall.' Thyrza did not speak. 'No,' Lydia went on, very sadly, 'that's all over and gone. There's something between us, and now there always will be, always. It's very hard for me to lose you like this.' 'Don't speak about it now, Lyddy,' her sister murmured. 'It isn't true that there'll always be something between us. You'll see. But don't speak about it now, dear.' Lydia brightened, and found other subjects, Then Thyrza said: 'You never told me, Lyddy, what it was that first made you break off with Mary. You know you never would tell me. Is it still a secret?' 'No. I can tell you if you like.' 'Please, do.'