on;--and I won't. And, Miss Prettyman, I couldn't do it, indeed I
couldn't. I can't bring myself to think of anything I am doing. Indeed I
can't; and then, Miss Prettyman, there are other reasons.' By the time
that she had proceeded thus far, Grace Crawley's words were nearly
choked by her tears.

'And what are the other reasons, Grace?'

'I don't know,' said Grace, struggling to speak through her tears.

'But I know,' said Miss Prettyman. 'I know them all. I know all your
reasons, and I tell you that in my opinion you ought to remain where you
are, and not go away. The very reasons which to you are reasons for your
going, to me are reasons for your remaining here.'

'I can't remain. I am determined to go. I don't mind you and Miss
Anne, but I can't bear to have the girls looking at me--and the
servants.'

Then Miss Prettyman paused awhile, thinking of what words of wisdom
would be most appropriate in the present conjuncture. But words of
wisdom did not seem to come easily to her, having for the moment been
banished by a tenderness of heart. 'Come here, my love,' she said at
last. 'Come here, Grace.' Slowly Grace got up from her seat and came
round, and stood by Miss Prettyman's elbow. Miss Prettyman pushed her
chair a little back, and pushed herself a little forward, and stretching
out one hand, placed her arm round Grace's waist, and with the other
took hold of Grace's hand, and thus drew her down and kissed the girl's
forehead and lips. And then Grace found herself kneeling at her friend's
feet. 'Grace,' she said, 'do you not know that I love you? Do you not