'What does it matter?
I am not coming with you, Aunt Philippa,' I retorted, somewhat vexed at this personality; but Sara overheard us, and strove to pour oil on the troubled waters.
'Leave Ursula alone, mother: she looks tolerably well this afternoon; only mourning never suits a dark complexion--' But I did not wait to hear any more.

I wandered about the place disconsolately, pretending to examine things with passing curiosity, but my eyes were throbbing and my heart beating angrily at Sara's thoughtless speech.

A sudden remembrance seemed to steal before me vividly: Charlie's pale face, with its sad, sweet smile, haunted me.

'Courage, Ursula; it will be over soon.' Those were his last words, poor boy, and he was looking at me and not at Lesbia as he spoke.

I always wondered what he meant by them.