The whole staff and many of the
guests knew that Sophia had been indisposed; and they knew no
more.
When by hazard Sophia observed a fault in the daily conduct of the
house, her first impulse was to go to the root of it and cure it,
her second was to leave it alone, or to palliate it by some
superficial remedy. Unperceived, and yet vaguely suspected by
various people, the decline of the Pension Frensham had set in.
The tide, having risen to its highest, was receding, but so little
that no one could be sure that it had turned. Every now and then
it rushed up again and washed the furthest stone.
Sophia and Constance exchanged several letters. Sophia said
repeatedly that she could not leave Paris. At length she roundly
asked Constance to come and pay her a visit. She made the
suggestion with fear--for the prospect of actually seeing her
beloved Constance alarmed her--but she could do no less than make
it. And in a few days she had a reply to say that Constance would
have come, under Cyril's charge, but that her sciatica was
suddenly much worse, and she was obliged to lie down every day
after dinner to rest her legs. Travelling was impossible for her.
The fates were combining against Sophia's decision.
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