Page:Restless Earth.djvu/196

colour of the world in which we live—and which the sightless cannot see.

She gazed until her eyes filled with tears of pity, and a lump arose in her throat; then she turned and made her way back to the kitchenette on her tip-toes.

The letter of the Sincere Friend lay dry and curled upon the rack. She took it down and read it through again.

Now, there seemed to be something wrong about it. It seemed to breathe spite, instead of warning. Could it possibly be that the writer had reason to hate James Harley, or was this the work of some interfering busy-body such as had often made trouble for herself, Patricia? An unspeakable person such as Mrs Langham, for instance?

As though the mere thought of the lady across the gully inspired her, Patricia tore the letter across again and again, fiercely.

“‘What does it all matter, Watson?’” she quoted; and this time she was perfectly sober, and knew what she did.

****

“Lunch!” she announced cheerfully, as she entered the sick-room with a laden tray. “If you don’t put-on weight it won’t be through any fault of mine. Come and get it.”

They were quite jolly over the meal, which, to tell the truth, was not a shining example of the culinary art. Patricia apologised for not salting the cabbage, and Grace laughed at the idea of mustard with mutton.

“Don’t you resent my presence, Grace?” asked Patricia earnestly, when they had finished.

“Not now, dear,” answered Grace, with a sad smile.

For a brief moment anger flamed in Patricia’s heart at what sounded like a confident announcement of victory; then it died as suddenly as pity filled her heart.