hem what
their legs were for, if they could not stand. So they had dried their
own little eyes with their own little fists, and had learned to
understand that the rubs of the world were to be borne in silence. This
rub that had come to Florence was of grave import, and had gone deeper
than the outward skin; but still the old lesson had its effect.

Florence rose from the bed on which she was lying, and prepared to come
down. "Do not commit yourself to him, as to anything," said Cecilia.

"I understand what that means," Florence answered. "He thinks as I do.
But never mind. He will not say much, and I shall say less. It is bad to
talk of this to any man--even to a brother."

Burton also received his sister with that exceptional affection which
declares pity for some overwhelming misfortune. He kissed her lips,
which was rare with him, for he would generally but just touch her
forehead, and he put his hand behind her waist and partly embraced her.
"Did Cissy manage to find you at the station?"

"Oh, yes; easily."

"Theodore thinks that a woman is no good for any such purpose as that,"
said Cecilia. "It is a wonder to him, no doubt, that we are not now
wandering about London in search of each other--and of him."

"I think she would have got home quicker if I could have been there,"
said Burton.

"We were in a cab in one minute; weren't we, Florence? The difference
would have been that you would have given a porter sixpence--and I gave
him a shilling, having bespoken him before."

"And Theodore's time was worth the sixpence, I suppose," said Florence.

"That depends," said Cecilia. "How did the synod go on?"

"The synod made an ass of itself; as synods always do. It is necessary
to get a lot of men together, for the show of the thing--otherwise the
world will not believe. That is the meaning of committees. But the real
work must always be done by one or two men. Come; I'll go and get ready
for dinner."

The subject--the one real subject, had thus been altogether avoided at
this first meeting with the man of the house, and the evening passed
without any allusion to it. Much was made of the children, and much was
said of the old people at home; but still there was a consciousness over
them all that the one matter of importance was being kept in the
background. They were all thinking of Harry Clavering, but no one
mentioned his name. They all knew that they were unhappy and
heavy-hearted through his fault, but no