Then she brought her own coffee, and sat down on the rug at Eleanor's feet.
'I know what you're thinking about!' she said, looking up with her sweet, sudden smile.

'You want to go--right away!' 'Can we trust him ?' said Eleanor, miserably.

'Edward doesn't know where he is,--but he could write of course to Edward at any moment.' She turned away her face from Lucy.

Any mention of Manisty's name dyed it with painful colour--the shame of the suppliant living on the mercy of the conqueror.
'He might,' said Lucy, thinking.

'But if you asked him?
No; I don't believe he would.