t all the rest had
changed. They had been grieved, shocked, humiliated by her behaviour,
and though she was nominally forgiven, the chill ring of disapproval
sounded in every word they spoke, and Lettice faded like a flower
deprived of light and sunshine. Instead of gaining strength by the
change she grew every day paler, thinner, and more ghost-like, until at
last her father became alarmed, and questioned her closely as to her
health.

"Does your head ache, Lettice?"

"No, father."

"Do you sleep well at night?"

"I think--sometimes I do, father. Pretty well."

"Have you any pain?"

Lettice raised her eyes and looked at him--a look such as a wounded stag
might cast at its executioner. She trembled like a leaf, and clasped
her hands round his arm in an agony of appeal.

"Oh, father, father! I am _all_ pain. I think of it day and night--it
never leaves me. I think I shall see it before me all my life."

"See what, Lettice? What do you mean?"

"_His face_!" quivered Lettice, and was silent. Mr Bertrand knew that
she was referring to the stricken look with which Arthur Newcome had
left the room where he had received the deathblow to his hopes, and the
remembrance brought a cloud across his own face.

"Ay! I don't wonder at that; but it will only add to our trouble,
Lettice, if you fell ill--and we have had enough anxiety."

He was conscious of not being very sympathetic, but his feeling was so
strong on the subject that he could not control his words, and when
Lettice spoke again it was with no reference to herself.

"Father, do you think he will ever--forget?--get over it?"

Mr Bertrand hesitated. "With most young men I should have said
unhesitatingly--yes! but I think Arthur Newcome will probably remember
longer than most, though I sincerely hope he will recover in time. But
at the best, Lettice, you have caused him bitter pain and humiliation,
and, what is worse, have shaken his faith in women for the rest of his
life."

Lettice gave a little cry of pain. "Oh, father! I want to talk to you.
I want to tell you how I feel, but I can't, while you speak in that
hard, dry voice! Don't you see--don't you see that you are all killing
me with your coldness? I have made you miserable, and have been weak,
and foolish, and vain; but, father, father! I have not base wicked, and
I have suffered most of all! Why do you break my heart by treating me
like a stranger, and freezing me by your cruel, cr