Meanwhile the library was still full.  Nobody had yet left it; and instinctively everybody was watching the French window.

Two figures appeared there, Felicia in front.  She came in, her eyes cast down, a bright spot on either cheek.  And while every one in the room held their breath she crossed the floor and paused in front of Faversham.

“Mr. Faversham, I ask your pardon, that I was so rude.  I—­” A sob rose in her throat, and she stopped a moment to control it.  “Till the other day—­I was just a poor girl—­who never had a lira to spend.  All that we ate—­my mother and I—­we had to work for.  And now—­you have made me rich.  It’s—­it’s very wonderful.  I only wish”—­the sob rose again—­“just that last time—­my father had been kind to me.  I thank you with all my heart.  But I can’t take it all, you know—­I can’t!”

She looked at him appealing—­almost threatening.  Faversham smiled at her.

“That doesn’t lie with you!  One of your trustees has already signed the deed—­here comes the other.”  He pointed to Tatham.

“But he isn’t my trustee!” insisted Felicia, the tears brimming over; “he’s—­”

Tatham came up to her, and gravely took her hand.

Felicia looked at him, then at Victoria, then at the circle of amazed faces.  With a low cry of “Mother” she turned and fled from the room, drawing Lady Tatham with her.

A little while later, Lydia, the lawyers and Faversham having departed, found herself alone a moment in the library.  In the tumult of happy excitement which possessed her, she could not sit still.  Without any clear notion of where she was going, she wandered through the open door into the farther room.  There, with a start, and a flush, she recognized her own drawings—­five of them—­in a row.  So here, all the time, was her unknown friend; and she had never guessed!

At a sound in the room behind, she turned, hoping it was Lady Tatham who had come back to her.  But she saw that it was Tatham himself.  He came into the little room, and stood silently beside her, as though wanting her to speak first.  With deep emotion she held out her hand, and wished him joy; her gesture, her eyes, all tenderness.

“She is so lovely—­so touching!  She will win everybody’s heart!”

He looked down upon her oddly, like some one oppressed by feelings and thoughts beyond his own unravelling.

“She has been very unhappy,” he said simply.  “I think I can take care of her.”

Lydia looked at him anxiously.  A sudden slight darkening seemed to come into the day; and for one terrified moment she seemed to see Tatham—­dear, generous youth!—­as the truly tragic figure in their high mingled comedy.

Not Melrose—­but Tatham!  Then, swiftly, the cloud passed, and she laughed at herself.

“Take care of her!  You will be the happiest people in the world—­save two!”

He let her talk to him, the inner agitation whatever it was, disappearing.  She soothed, she steadied him.  Now, at last, they were to be true friends—­comrades in the tasks and difficulties of life.  Without words, her heart promised it—­to him and Felicia.