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Updated: May 1, 2025
She was ignorantly proud of Sydney's successes: she was quite as ignorantly ashamed of Lettice's achievements in the same lines of study.
The delayed realization of her patience of misery rankled like a barb. The wandering thoughts returned to the long fabrication he had told her of the loss of his money in Stenton, of the fictitious agent of hardware. He had snared the girl in a net of such lies; scornful of Lettice's innocence, her "stupid" trust, he had brought her to this ruinous pass. It hadn't been necessary.
He jested as he fought once he drew a tremulous wail of laughter from Mistress Lettice's lips. A bullet sung through the aperture and grazed his arm. "The first blood," he said, with a laugh. "There's a man killed in the master's room and two in the hall!" cried young Whittington, from his post at the far window.
He might have grasped it thus, and the sacramental wine would have been a Circe's potion, and Lettice would have given her gift in vain. But nature does not so miscalculate her highest moods. "Spirits are not finely touched but to fine issues." Lettice's giving was an act of faith, and her faith was justified.
Campion that evening except tears this was evident as soon as she entered the house, leaning on Lettice's arm; and the best thing was to put her at once to bed, and delay the evening meal until Lettice was able to leave her.
When Clara told him of Lettice's audacity he was terribly shocked as indeed were all who heard the story and his resentment against Alan increased. The news that they were happy together did not produce the good effect upon his temper which Clara thought it might have done. It was Lettice herself who tackled Mrs. Hartley.
He did not know Lettice's address; but, thinking it possible that Mrs. Graham might have it, he went the same afternoon to Edwardes Square. Clara, being at home, was able, though in some trepidation, to tell him what he wanted; and thus it was that he found himself at Bute Lodge.
Alan read again and again the borrowed words with which Lettice's heroine concluded her written confession of love for the man whom she had once rejected, and who thought himself precluded by his disgrace from coming to her again.
Nothing could make him more disgusted and wretched than he had been for some time past, so far as his own interests were concerned. It was only the dragging of Lettice's name into the miserable business which now pained and tormented him. But there was one who had more right than himself to come forward as the champion of Lettice's fair fame, and was able to do it with better effect.
In the deepening light Lettice's countenance seemed thinner than usual, her round, staring eyes were frightened, as though she had seen in the night the visible apparition of the curse of suffering laid upon all birth. "You look like you've taken leave of your wits," he exclaimed in an accumulated exasperation; "say something." He leaned across the bed, and, grasping her elbow, shook her.
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