Lucy sighed, finding it odd to switch roles as she had over the past weeks. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. She had just passed into a little antechamber beyond when she suddenly heard a faint knocking. “If you must go on with it,” said Hetty, “now’s your time. She shrank from him as he gripped her hand more forcibly. His voice now had lost its ironies. At Morningside Park I feel as though all my growing up was presently to stop, as though I was being shut in from the light of life, and, as they say in botany, etiolated.
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