She thought of her aunt and that purse that was dropped on the table, and of many troublesome and ill-requited kindnesses; she thought of the help of the Widgetts, of Teddy’s admiration; she thought, with a new-born charity, of her father, of Manning’s conscientious unselfishness, of Miss Miniver’s devotion. Her knees shook, her breath came fast, she almost felt the lurid effect of those tiny patches of rouge upon her pallor-stricken cheeks. Lucy was a hard worker and a good cook and because of those traits she and Sheila had gotten along most of the time. “I must take them,” she said, to help herself over her own incredulity. He must not in any way call their attention to it.
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