Aimée could not help sighing. If she only _had_ stayed at home, how much happier they all might have been! But she had promised Dolly not to add to her unhappiness by hinting at the truth, so she kept her own counsel. It was fully three months before they saw Ralph Gowan again. He had gone on the Continent, they heard. A feeling of delicacy had prompted the journey. As long as he remained in London, he could scarcely drop out of his old friendly position at Bloomsbury Place, and he felt that for a while at least Mollie would scarcely find it easy to face him. So he went away and rambled about until he thought she would have time to get over her first embarrassment. But at the end of the three months he came back, and one afternoon surprised them all by appearing amongst them again. Mollie, sitting perseveringly at work over her penitential sewing, shrank a little, and dropped her eyelids when he came in, but she managed to behave with creditable evenness of manner after all, and the rest welcomed him warmly. “I have been to Brabazon Lodge,” he said at length to Aimée. “I spent Monday evening there, and was startled at the change I found in your sister. I did not know she was ill.” Aimée started herself, and looked up at him with a frightened face. “Ill!” she said. “Did you say ill?” It was his turn to be surprised then. “I thought her looking ill,” he answered. “She seemed to me to be both paler and thinner. But you must not let me alarm you,--I thought, of course, that you would know.” “She has never mentioned it in her letters,” Aimée said. “And she has not been home for three months, so we have not seen her.” “Don't let me give you a false impression,” returned Gowan, eagerly. “She seemed in excellent spirits, and was quite her old self; indeed, I scarcely should imagine that she herself placed sufficient stress upon the state of her health. She insisted that she was well when I spoke to her about it.” “I am very glad you told me,” answered Aimée. “She is too indifferent sometimes. I am afraid she would not have let us know. I thank you, very much.” He had other thanks before he left the house. As he was going out, Mollie, in her character of porteress, opened the hall door for him, and, having opened it, stood there with Tod's new garment half concealed, a pair of timid eyes uplifted to his face, a small, trembling, feverish hand held out. “Mr. Gowan,” she said, in a low, fluttering voice. “Oh, if you please--” He took the little hot hand, feeling some tender remorse for not having tried to draw her out more and help her out of her painful shyness and restraint. “What is it, Mollie?” he asked.