“No, my dear.”

“He used to talk to me about going to the lakes.”  And then there was another pause, during which Bell observed that her mother’s face became clouded with anxiety.  “But I won’t think of it any more,” continued Lily; “I will fix my mind to something.”  And then she got up from her chair.  “I don’t think it would have been so difficult if I had not been ill.”

“Of course it would not, my darling.”

“And I’m going to be well again now, immediately.  Let me see:  I was told to read Carlyle’s History of the French Revolution, and I think I’ll begin now.”  It was Crosbie who had told her to read the book, as both Bell and Mrs Dale were well aware.  “But I must put it off till I can get it down from the other house.”

“Jane shall fetch it, if you really want it,” said Mrs Dale.

“Bell shall get it, when she goes up in the afternoon; will you, Bell?  And I’ll try to get on with this stuff in the meantime.”  Then again she sat with her eyes fixed upon the pages of the book.  “I’ll tell you what, mamma,—­you may have some comfort in this:  that when to-day’s gone by, I shan’t make a fuss about any other day.”

“Nobody thinks that you are making a fuss, Lily.”

“Yes, but I am.  Isn’t it odd, Bell, that it should take place on Valentine’s day?  I wonder whether it was so settled on purpose, because of the day.  Oh, dear, I used to think so often of the letter that I should get from him on this day, when he would tell me that I was his valentine.  Well; he’s got another—­valen—­tine—­now.”  So much she said with articulate voice, and then she broke down, bursting out into convulsive sobs, and crying in her mother’s arms as though she would break her heart.  And yet her heart was not broken, and she was still strong in that resolve which she had made, that her grief should not overpower her.  As she had herself said, the thing would not have been so difficult, had she not been weakened by illness.

“Lily, my darling; my poor, ill-used darling.”

“No, mamma, I won’t be that.”  And she struggled grievously to get the better of the hysterical attack which had overpowered her.  “I won’t be regarded as ill-used; not as specially ill-used.  But I am your darling, your own darling.  Only I wish you’d beat me and thump me when I’m such a fool, instead of pitying me.  It’s a great mistake being soft to people when they make fools of themselves.  There, Bell; there’s your stupid book, and I won’t have any more of it.  I believe it was that that did it.”  And she pushed the book away from her.

After this little scene she said no further word about Crosbie and his bride on that day, but turned the conversation towards the prospect of their new house at Guestwick.

“It will be a great comfort to be nearer Dr Crofts; won’t it, Bell?”

“I don’t know,” said Bell.

“Because if we are ill, he won’t have such a terrible distance to come.”