I placed it over my heart and it felt warm there.

It brought me into touch with him, so that, after all, it was not so bitter to be going since I could write.

And the very keeping back the reading of the letter was sweet.
I was able to face my godmother with a smiling face, although I've no doubt my eyes still bore the traces of tears.
"You are a dear child, Bawn," she said, lifting my face by the chin, and looking down into my eyes, "a dear child!" I felt a hypocrite at her praises, for I had been in flat rebellion a little while before, and it was only the letter that had enabled me to lift up my heart; but her mind was too occupied for her to notice how my eyes fell and the guilty expression I must have worn.
A minute later we were in the cab, and I was watching the stream of people in the street eagerly to see if I might see Anthony Cardew's face among them.

But I did not see any one at all resembling him.
And presently we were in the train and had a carriage to our two selves; and when the train had started my godmother took out of her handbag my grandmother's letter.
"I am going to let you read this, Bawn," she said, "for I think you are of an age now to be taken into our difficulties.

I confess it puzzles me.".