He put up his letter on the stroke of midnight, and then walked his room a while longer, struggling with himself and the passion of his desire; praying that he might win her.  Finally he took a well-worn Bible from a locked drawer, and read some verses from the Gospel of St. John, quieting himself.  He never went to sleep without reading either a psalm or some portion of the New Testament.  The influence of his Eton tutor had made him a Christian of a simple and convinced type; and his mother’s agnosticism had never affected him.  But he and she never talked of religion.

Nothing arrived from Threlfall the following day during the morning.  After luncheon, Victoria announced her intention of going to call on the Penfolds.

“You can follow me there in the motor,” she said to her son; “and if any news comes, bring it on.”

They were in the drawing-room.  Netta, white and silent, was stretched on the sofa, where Victoria had just spread a shawl over her.  Felicia appeared to be turning over an illustrated paper, but was in reality watching the mother and son out of the corners of her eyes.  Everything that was said containing a mention of the Penfolds struck in her an attentive ear.  The casual conversation of the house had shown her already that there were three ladies—­two of them young—­who were living not far from Duddon, and were objects of interest to both Lady Tatham and her son.  Flowers were sent them, and new books.  They were not relations; and not quite ordinary acquaintances.  All this had excited a furious curiosity in Felicia.  She wished—­was determined indeed—­to see these ladies for herself.

“You will hardly want to go out,” said Victoria gently, standing by Netta’s sofa, and looking down with kind eyes on the weary woman lying there.

Netta shook her head; then putting out her hand she took Victoria’s and pressed it.  Victoria understood that she was waiting feverishly for the answer from Threlfall, and could do nothing and think of nothing till it arrived.

“And your daughter?” She looked round for Felicia.

“I wish to drive in a motor,” said Felicia, rising and speaking with a decision which amused Victoria.  Pending the arrival from London of some winter costumes on approval, Victoria’s maid had arranged for the little Italian a picturesque dress of dark blue silk, from a gown of her mistress’, by which the emaciation of the girl’s small frame was somewhat disguised; while the beauty of the material, and of the delicate embroideries on the collar and sleeves, strangely heightened the grace of her curly head, and the effect of her astonishing eyes, so liquidly bright, in a face too slight for them.