cern her than could be circumscribed by her country home. Her uncle partly comprehended her feelings, and said kindly,—
‘It’s au revoir, that’s all, Lesbie. Depend upon it, you'll meet again, and before very long, humanly speaking. There’s work for each of you to do in the great cause, and you can keep each other up to the mark by writing often.’
Lesbia felt her uncle’s sympathy, but still went ashore with a heavy heart. Yet she was not wanting in moral courage any more than in physical, and her good sense soon bade her rouse herself against brooding over troubles more or less imaginary. ‘Come,’ she said to herself, ‘I can surely be as strong-minded as my dear mother, who has made an effort and is quite cheerful now, and never says a word about the Dream.’
