There was one hypothesis which Lydia quite left aside. She did not ask herself whether Egremont might not truly and honestly love her sister.

It was natural enough that she should not think of it. Every tradition weighed in favour of rascality on the young man's part, and Lydia's education did not suffice to raise her above the common point of view in such a matter. A gentleman did not fall in love with a work-girl, not in the honest sense. Lydia had the prejudices of her class, and her judgment went full against Egremont from the outset. He had encouraged secret meetings, the kind of thing to be expected. He must have known perfectly what a blow he was preparing for Gilbert, if the fact of these meetings should be discovered. What did he care for that? His selfishness was proof against every scruple, no doubt.

She could not argue as an educated person might have done. Egremont's zeal in his various undertakings made no plea for his character, in her mind. To be sure, a more subtle reasoner might have given it as little weight, but that would have been the result of conscious wisdom. Lydia could only argue from her predisposition regarding the class of 'gentlemen.' We know how she had shrunk from meeting Egremont. Guided by Gilbert and Thyrza, she had taught herself to think well of him, but, given the least grounds of suspicion, class-instinct was urgent to condemn.

Only one way recommended itself to her, and that the way of love. She must lead Thyrza to confide in her, must get at the secret by constraint of tenderness. She might seem to suspect, but the grounds of her suspicion must be hidden.

Having resolved this, she leaned nearer and spoke gentle words such as might soothe. Thyrza made no response, save that she raised her lids and looked wofully.

'Dear one, what is it you're keeping from me?' Lydia pleaded. 'Is it kind, Thyrza, is it kind to me? It isn't enough to tell me you're poorly; there's more than that. Do you think I can look at you and not see that you have a secret from me?'

Thyrza had closed her eyes again, and was mute.

'Dear, how can you be afraid of _me_, your old Lyddy? When there's anything you're glad of, you tell me; oughtn't I to know far more when you're in trouble? Speak to me, dear sister! I'll put my head near yours; whisper it to me! How _can_ I go on in this way? Every day I see you getting worse. I'm miserable when I'm away at work; I haven't a minute's peace. Be kind to me, and say what has happened.'

There was silence.

'Do you think there's anything in me but love for you, my dearest, my Thyrza? Do you think I could say a cruel word, tell me whatever you might? Do you think I shan't love you only the better, the more unhappy you are? Perhaps I half know what it is, perhaps--'

Thyrza started and gazed with the same wildness as when she first came in.

'You know? What do you know? Tell me at once, Lyddy!'

'I don't really know anything, love--it's only that I can't help thinking--I've noticed things.'

Thyrza raised herself upon one arm. She was terror-stricken.

'What have you noticed? Tell me at once! You've no right to say things of that kind! Can't I be poorly without you talking as if I'd done something wrong? What have I done? Nothing, nothing! Leave me alone, Lyddy! Go downstairs, and leave me to myself!'

'But you don't understand me,' pleaded the other. 'I don't think you've done anything, but I know you're in trouble--how can I help knowing it?'

'But you said you've noticed things. What do you mean by that? You'd no right to say it if you don't mean anything! You're trying to frighten me! I can't bear you sitting there! I want to be alone! If you must stay in the room, go away and sit by the fire. Haven't you no sewing to do? You've always got plenty at other times. Oh, you make me feel as if I should go mad!'

Lydia withdrew from the bedside. She sat down in a corner of the room and covered her face with her hands.

Thyrza fell back exhausted. She had wrought herself almost to hysteria, and, though she could not shed tears, the dry sobs seemed as if they would rend her bosom.

Minutes passed. She turned and looked at her sister. Lydia was bent forward, propping her forehead.

'Lyddy, I want you.'

Lydia came forward. She had been crying. She fell on her knees by the bed.

'Lyddy, what did you mean? It's no good denying it, you meant something. You said you'd noticed things You've no right to say that and say no more.

'You won't tell me what your secret is without me saying what I've thought?'

'I've got no secret! I don't know what you mean by secret!'

'Thyrza--have you--have you seen Mr. Egremont tonight?'

They looked at each other. Thyrza's lips were just parted; she drew herself back, as if to escape scrutiny. The arm with which she supported herself trembled violently.

'Why do you ask that?' she said, faintly.

'That's what I meant, Thyrza,' the other whispered, with a face of fear.

'Have I seen Mr. Egremont? I don't know what you're thinking of? Why should I see Mr. Egremont? What have I to do with him?'

Lydia put her hand forward and touched her sister.

'Thyrza!' she cried, passionately. 'Tell me! Tell me everything! I can't bear it! If you have ever so little love for me in your heart--tell me!'

Thyrza could no longer keep her raised position. She fell back. Then with one hand she caught the railing at the head of the bed and held it convulsively, whilst she buried her face in the pillow.

Lydia bent over her, and said in low, quick tones:

'I think no harm of you! Perhaps you've got to like him too much, and he's persuaded you to go to meet him. It's only what I've thought to myself. Tell me, and let me be a sister to you; let me help you! No one else shall hear a word of it, Thyrza. Only Lyddy! We'll talk about it, and see what can be done. You shall tell me how it began--tell me all there is in your heart, poor child. It'll comfort you to speak of it.

The secret is killing you, my darling. There's no harm--none--none! You couldn't help it. Only let us both know, and talk to each other about it, like sisters!'

Thyrza's grasp of the iron loosened, and her hand fell. She turned her face to the light again.

'Lyddy, how do you know this?'

'I thought it. You've been out every morning. You spoke of him in a way--'

'Has any one said anything to you? Has Gilbert?'

'No, no! Gilbert hasn't such a thought. It's all myself. Oh, what has he been saying to you, Thyrza?'

A change was coming about in the sufferer. What had at the first suggestion been a terror now grew upon her as an assuagement of pain.

She clung to her sister's hand.

'I don't know how it began,' she whispered. 'It seems so sudden; but I think it's been coming for a long time. Ever since I saw him that day at the library--the first time I ever saw him. Ever since, there hasn't been a day I haven't thought of him. I never saw any one else that made me think like that. Day and night, Lyddy! But it didn't trouble me at first. It was only after I came back from Eastbourne. I seemed to think of everything in a different way after that. I dreamt of him every night, and I did so want to see him. I don't know why. Then I saw him at last--on Monday--at the library.'

'You hadn't met him--alone--before then?'

'No, never since that first time.'

'But why did you go there on Monday?'

'Oh, I can't--can't think! Something seemed to tell me to go there. I found there was some books come, and he was putting them on the shelves. He said he didn't want Gilbert to know--just for fun--and I promised not to say anything.'

'You mean last Monday? This week?'

'Yes. Not before then. And it seems--oh, it seems a month ago, Lyddy!'

She lay back, pressing Lydia's hand against her heart.

'But did he ask you to go again, dear?'