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.'

'It was because Mary spoke against Mr. Ackroyd. I still don't think
that she ought to have spoken as she did, and Mary owns she was unkind;
but I understand better now what she meant.'

'What was it she said?'

'It was about his having no religion, and that, because he had none, he
did things