‘No;—­certainly not today.’

’Then I will talk it over with you tomorrow.  It wants some thinking;—­does it not, mamma?’

‘It would not want much with me, Lily.’

’But then, mamma, you are not I. Believing as I believe, feeling as I feel, it wants some thinking.  That’s what I mean.’

‘I wish I could help you, my dear.’

‘You shall help me—­tomorrow.’  The morrow came and Lily was still very patient; but she had prepared herself, and had prepared the time also, so that in the hour of the gloaming she was alone with her mother, and sure that she might remain alone with her for an hour or so.  ’Mamma, sit there,’ she said; ’I will sit down here, and then I can lean against you and be comfortable.  You can bear as much of me as that—­can’t you, mamma?’ Then Mrs Dale put her arm over Lily’s shoulder, and embraced her daughter.  ‘And now, mamma, we will talk about this wonderful letter.’

‘I do not know, dear, that I have anything to say about it.’

’But you must have something to say about it, mamma.  You must bring yourself to have something to say—­to have a great deal to say.’

‘You know what I think as well as though I talked for a week.’

‘That won’t do, mamma.  Come, you must not be hard with me.’

‘Hard, Lily!’

’I don’t mean that you will hurt me, or not give me any food—­or that you will not go on caring about me more than anything else in the whole world ten times over—­’ And Lily as she spoke, tightened the embrace of her mother’s arm round her neck.  I’m not afraid you’ll be hard in that way.  But you must soften your heart so as to be able to mention his name and talk about him, and tell me what I ought to do.  You must see with my eyes, and hear with my ears, and feel with my heart;—­and then, when I know that you have done that, I must judge with your judgment.’

‘I wish you to use your own.’

’Yes;—­because you won’t see with my eyes and hear with my ears.  That’s what I call being hard.  Though you should feed me with blood from your breast, I should call you a hard pelican, unless you could give me also the sympathy which I demand from you.  You see, mamma, we have never allowed ourselves to speak of this man.’

‘What need has there been, dearest?’

’Only because we have been thinking of him.  Out of the full heart the mouth speaketh;—­that is, the mouth does so, when the full heart is allowed to have its own comfortably.’

‘There are things which should be forgotten.’

‘Forgotten, mamma?’

‘The memory of which should not be fostered by much talking.’