“How do you do?” in her shyest tone, and felt supremely young and miserable. However, if Miss Lisle did not know what to do with her maid, her maid knew perfectly well what to do with her. She took Sydney’s umbrella, and inquired for her dressing-case. “I haven’t one,” the heiress faltered, holding tight to father’s hand.

Ward was too well-bred to be at all surprised. She just said, “Certainly, Miss Lisle,” and walked behind her to the carriage, where Mr. Fenton had already ordered rugs and hot-water tins. She inquired if she could get Miss Lisle anything, and, on a refusal, remarked that she was travelling in the back part of the train, and would come to Miss Lisle at Donisbro’. Sydney murmured, “Thank you very much,” and Ward, with a courtly bend of her head, departed.

Mr. Fenton considerately said something rather inaudible about “papers,” and left father and daughter for that precious last five minutes, and then, after all, Sydney could not find anything to say, but could only stand mutely holding to the worn cuff of his shabby overcoat and looking at him with great, hungry eyes.

Dr. Chichester had to blow his nose more than once in the course of that five minutes.[35] “There, there, my dear!” he kept on saying, “things will look brighter presently.... Be a good girl ... and write to us ... you’ll like getting our letters, won’t you?... And I expect this Lady Frederica will spoil you famously, eh, my dear?... There, there! don’t cry; it won’t be as bad as you think, my little girl!”

[35]

And then Mr. Fenton gave a nervous little cough behind him, and said he was afraid the train was just due to start, and Dr. Chichester apologised for blocking up the doorway, and kissed Sydney, and said to Mr. Fenton, in a rather husky voice, “Be good to my little girl, sir.”

And Mr. Fenton looked a little frightened, and said, “Yes, yes, you may rely upon me; I will make a point of it.” And then a guard yelled, “Stand clear, sir!” and the train was moving.

And Sydney had stood up and waved her handkerchief till the long platform, with the tall, slightly stooping figure, was quite out of sight—the last of home!

The letters on the page danced wildly and then disappeared, as Sydney’s meditations reached this point. She got her handkerchief out furtively. It certainly was not being very[36] brave or sensible to cry at her age. She dried her tears, and found Mr. Fenton looking at her in 

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