“You did three, darling.”

“Only three?  And there are nine and twenty.  Still, he’ll see that I began them.  Kitty—­do you think he’ll wonder and guess why I left off?”

“Oh no, he isn’t as clever as all that.”

“You mustn’t tell him.  You’re writing the letter, dear, now, aren’t you?  You mustn’t say a word about my illness.  Only tell him I’m so glad to hear he’s going to Alassio with Mr. Maddox.”

“I don’t think any the better of him for that.  Fancy going to Italy with that brute of a man!”

“He wasn’t really a brute.  He only said those things because he cared for him.  You can’t blame him for that.”

“I don’t blame him for that.  I blame him for being a most appalling bounder.”

“Do you mind not talking about him any more?”

“No dear, I don’t a bit.”

Lucia lay very quiet for some time before she spoke again.  “They can’t say now I sacrificed his genius to my pride.  You will catch the post, won’t you?  What a plague I am, but if they’re posted before seven he’ll get them in the morning and he’ll have time to write.  Perhaps he won’t be starting till the afternoon.”

In the morning she again betrayed her mind’s preoccupation.  “He must have got them by now.  Kitty, did you hear how the wind blew in the night?  He’ll have an awful crossing.”

“Well then, let’s hope he won’t be very ill; but he isn’t going by the Bay of Biscay, dear.”

The wind blew furiously all morning, and when it dropped a little towards evening it was followed by a pelting rain.

“He’s at Dover now.”

“In a mackintosh,” said Kitty by way of consolation.  But Lucia, uncomforted, lay still, listening to the rain.  It danced like a thousand devils on the gravel of the courtyard.  Suddenly she sat up, raising herself by her hands.

“Kitty!” she cried.  “He’s coming.  He is really.  By the terrace.  Can’t you hear?”

Kitty heard nothing but the rain dancing on the courtyard.  And the terrace led into it by the other wing.  It was impossible that Lucia could have heard footsteps there.

“But I know, Kitty, I know.  It’s his walk.  And he always came that way.”

She slipped her feet swiftly on to the floor, and to Kitty’s amazement sat up unsupported.  Kitty in terror ran to her and put her arm round her, but Lucia freed herself gently from her grasp.  She was trembling in all her body.  Kitty herself heard footsteps in the courtyard now.  They stopped suddenly and the door-bell rang.

“Do go to him, Kitty—­and tell him.  And send him here to me.”

Kitty went, and found Keith Rickman standing in the hall.  Her instinct told her that Lucia must be obeyed.  And as she sent him in to her, she saw through the open door that Lucia rose to her feet, and came to him and never swayed till his arms held her.

She clung to him and he drew her closer and lifted her and carried her to her couch, murmuring things inarticulate yet so plain that even she could not misunderstand.