"Lady Lufton does not dress young."
"That is it. She never has, in my memory. She always used to wear black when I first recollect her. She has given that up now; but she is still very sombre, is she not?"
"I do not like ladies to dress very young—that is, ladies of—of—"
"Ladies of fifty, we will say?"
"Very well; ladies of fifty, if you like it."
"Then I am sure you will like my mother."
They had now turned up through the parsonage wicket, a little gate that opened into the garden at a point on the road nearer than the chief entrance.
"I suppose I shall find Mark at the house?" said he.
"I dare say you will, my lord."
"Well, I'll go round this way, for my business is partly in the stable. You see I am quite at home here, though you never have seen me before. But, Miss Robarts, now that the ice is broken, I hope that we may be friends." He then put out his hand, and when she gave him hers he pressed it almost as an old friend might have done.[1]
And, indeed, Lucy had talked to him almost as though he were an old friend. For a minute or two she had forgotten that he was a lord and a stranger—had forgotten also to be stiff and guarded, as was her wont. Lord Lufton had spoken to her as though he had really cared to know her; and she, unconsciously, had been taken by the compliment. Lord Lufton, indeed, had not thought much about it—excepting as thus, that he liked the glance of a pair of bright eyes as most other young men do like it; but on this occasion, the evening had been so dark that he had hardly seen Lucy's eyes at all.
"Well, Lucy, I hope you liked your companion," Mrs. Robarts said, as the three of them clustered round the drawing-room fire before dinner.
"Oh yes, pretty well," said Lucy.
"That is not at all complimentary to his lordship."
"I did not mean to be complimentary, Fanny."
"Lucy is a great deal too matter-of-fact for compliments," said Mark.
"What I meant was, that I had no great opportunity for judging, seeing that I was only with Lord Lufton for about ten minutes."
- ↑ See Frontispiece.
