 during the first days
of February there had been a fear that she might fall gravely ill. Only in
advanced spring had she begun to go beyond the grounds of the Manor, and it was
still unusual for her to do so except in her carriage. Letty had acquiesced in
the altered relations; she suffered, and for various reasons, but did not
endeavour to revive an intimacy which Adela seemed no longer to desire. Visits
to the Manor were from the first distressing to her; the natural subjects of
conversation were those which both avoided, and to talk in the manner of mere
acquaintances was scarcely possible. Of course this state of things led to
remark. Mrs. Waltham was inclined to suspect some wrong feeling on Letty's side,
though of what nature it was hard to determine. Alfred, on the other hand, took
his sister's behaviour ill, more especially as he felt a distinct change in her
manner to himself. Was the girl going to be spoilt by the possession of wealth?
What on earth did she mean by her reserve, her cold dignity? Wasn't Letty good
enough for her now that she was lady of the Manor? Letty herself, when the
subject was spoken of, pretended to recognise no change beyond what was to be
expected. So far from being hurt, her love for Adela grew warmer during these
months of seeming estrangement; her only trouble was that she could not go often
and sit by her friend's side - sit silently, hand holding hand. That would have
been better than speech, which misled, or at best was inadequate. Meantime she
supported herself with the hope that love might some day again render her worthy
of Adela's confidence. That her friend was far above her she had always gladly
confessed; she felt it more than ever now that she tried in vain to read Adela's
secret thoughts. The marriage was a mystery to her; to the last moment she had
prayed that something might prevent it. Yet, now that Adela was Mrs. Mutimer,
she conscientiously put away every thought of discontent, and only wondered what
high motive had dictated the choice and - for such she knew it must be - the
sacrifice.
    »What are you reading?« Letty asked, sitting down on the bank at a little
distance.
    »It's hardly to be called reading. I have to look out every other word. It's
a book by a man called Schaeffle, on the Social Question.«
    »Oh yes,« said the girl, hazarding a conjecture that the work had
