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“I have not thanked you properly.”

“You have thanked me more than once.”

“I know. You have been very determined not to hear it.”

Elizabeth looked down at their joined hands. Her own fingers had recovered from the pressure of the thread. Jane’s touch was entirely familiar. There was no need to examine it for anything else.

“You stayed,” Jane said.

“I promised I would.”

“I remember being afraid that you might have to go out. I could hear everybody moving about, and sometimes I was not certain where you were until you answered.”

“I was near you.”

“Yes. That is what I wished to thank you for.”

Elizabeth had supposed she could accept the words calmly. She had slept, eaten, and begun to recover the ordinary use of her thoughts. Yet Jane’s gratitude came so close to the simple reason for all her efforts that her eyes filled before she could prevent it.

Her sister pressed her hand.

“Oh, Lizzy.”

“I am quite well.”

“I did not say you were not.”

“I know. I seem unable to let anybody finish a sentence without assuring them.”

Jane reached for the handkerchief beside her pillow and offered it. Elizabeth took it with a laugh which did not prevent another tear.

“I meant to comfort you,” she said.

“You have. I may take a turn.”

Elizabeth let her. She did not tell Jane of the thread, the cold, or the old account lying safely in Mrs. Reynolds’s keeping.

When she could look up without making her sister anxious, Jane was smiling at her.

“What is it?” Elizabeth asked.

“I was wondering whether you would be equally determined to assure Mr. Darcy that you were quite well.”

“He has asked often enough.”

“Yes. I have noticed.”

“He is considerate of his guests.”

“Of course.”

Elizabeth folded the handkerchief, discovered that folding it occupied less time than she had hoped, and looked at Jane again.

Her sister’s expression had not altered.

“You need not appear so pleased with yourself.”

“I am pleased with you.”