The Serpent's Tooth by B.M. Croker

Although she searchingly scrutinised her niece's appearance, Mrs. Fenchurch failed to discover any trace of actual misery in face or attitude. Certainly Letty was pale; but the weather was exceptionally trying, and Mrs. Denton, who had been as good as her word, assured her that the child had taken her ‘little talk' in the best part, and behaved beautifully!

Yet Letty, for all her outward composure, was absolutely wretched; her little glimpse into Paradise had been speedily eclipsed. So she must never think of Lancelot Lumley, nor he of her, and she now seemed to sit in a prison behind bars, and in outer darkness. Her only comforts were her uncle, with his cheery nature and his warm affection, and Sam the pug. Lancelot had liked Sam, and said he was ‘a good sort,' and up in her own room she confided many sorrows to Sam, and laid her wet cheek against his velvet jowl, and dropped tears over his fawn head, whilst he snorted, goggled, and sympathised dog-fashion. Among her little circle, it was surprising how reserved and secretive Letty could be; the only one who divined her trouble, was eagle-eyed Mrs. Hesketh -- who understood and marvelled at the little girl's pride and fortitude. The lady also experienced some sharp twinges from a rather drowsy conscience. She had been wrong to bring the young people together, and now, as she half feared, _they_ were paying. As a sop to her remorse, she presented Letty with a superb sable boa; but even this had no effect -- positively it might as well have been rabbit skin! for all the girl seemed to care.