And her face reminded him even more of his mother than Pamela's.

She was not the least like his mother, but there was something in her expression that first youth cannot have--something comforting, profound, sustaining.
He wanted her always to sit there.

But his mind wandered from what she was saying after a little, and returned to his father.
'Is father there ?' he asked, trying to turn his head, and failing.
'Not yet.' 'Poor father! Elizabeth!' he spoke the name with a boyish shyness.
'Yes!' She stooped over him.
'You won't go away ?' Elizabeth hesitated a moment, and he looked distressed.
'From Mannering, I mean.

Do stay, Broomie!'-- the name slipped out, and in his weakness he did not notice it--'Pamela knows--that she was horrid!' 'Dear Desmond, I will do everything I can for Pamela.' 'And for father ?' 'Yes, indeed--I will be all the help I can,' repeated Elizabeth.
Desmond relapsed into silence and apparent sleep.

But Elizabeth's heart smote her.