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Not that he neglected
her,--he simply concerned himself more with other things. So it happened
that a certain indefinable sense of loss weighed upon her,--a vague,
uncomprehended solitude began to encompass her,--a solitude even more
keenly felt when she was surrounded by friends than when she was quite
alone,--and as the sweet English June drew to its end, she grew languid
and listless, and her blue eyes often filled with sudden tears. Her
little watch-dog, Britta, began to notice this, and to wonder concerning
the reason of her mistress's altered looks.
"It is this dreadful London," thought Britta. "So hot and
stifling--there's no fresh air for her. And all this going about to
balls and parties and shows--no wonder she is tired out!"
But it was something more than mere fatigue that made Thelma's eyes look
sometimes so anxious, so gravely meditative and earnest. One day she
seemed so much abstracted and lost in painful musings that Britta's
loving heart ached, and she watched her for some moments without
venturing to say a word.


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