Ackroyd had evidently remembered that it was unwise; perhaps he had reported the matter to Totty, with the result that Totty had pronounced a quiet opinion, which it was only becoming in him to respect.
He wrote back; the letter came as speedily as could have been expected.
'Dear Miss Trent,' and 'Yours truly'-- even as she had written.

How can one write such words and mean nothing by them?
But he said, 'Believe me, yours truly;' ah, she would never have ventured upon that! To be sure, it meant nothing, nothing; but she liked that 'Believe me.' He said he was very glad indeed that Thyrza had written, and he hoped earnestly that more satisfactory news would come before long.

Very short.

Lydia put away the note with that she had received from the same writer one sad morning in the work-room.

How long ago that seemed! More than a month of summer went by, and Lydia waited still for another word from her sister.