CHAPTER XI
After Manisty had carried off his sister, Eleanor and Lucy sat together in
the garden, talking sometimes, but more often silent, till the sun began to
drop towards Ostia and the Mediterranean.
'You must come in,' said Eleanor, laying her hand on the girl's. 'The chill
is beginning.'
Lucy rose, conscious again of the slight giddiness of fever, and they
walked towards the house. Half way, Lucy said with sudden, shy energy--
'I do _wish_ I were quite myself! It is I who ought to be helping you
through this--and I am just nothing but a worry!'
Eleanor smiled.
'You distract our thoughts,' she said. 'Nothing could have made this visit
of Alice's other than a trial.'
She spoke kindly, but with that subtle lack of response to Lucy's sympathy
which had seemed to spring first into existence on the day of Nemi. Lucy
had never felt at ease with her since then, and her heart, in truth, was
a little sore. She only knew that something intangible and dividing had
arisen between them; and that she felt herself once more the awkward,
ignorant girl beside this delicate and high-bred woman, on whose confidence
and friendship she had of course no claim whatever. Already she was
conscious of a certain touch of shame when she thought of her new dresses
and of Mrs.
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