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.