Now she was constrained to think.

She remembered Thyrza's lateness at dinner on Monday; she remembered that Thyrza had been from home each morning this week.

And if it were true that books had arrived at the library, and that Gilbert knew nothing of it--Was _this_ the explanation of Thyrza's illness, of her inexplicable agitations, of her sleeplessness?
She could not raise her head.

Ackroyd too kept silent.

She asked at length: 'Have you anything more to tell me ?' 'Yes, I _have_ something more.