"Do sit down," said Mr. Tombs; "there are cushions. I brought them out after the last dance."
"What did you do with Miss Antrobus?"
"Oh, I brought her out too. That's right. I'll sit here." He lowered himself to the brick step at her feet. Lucilla felt a little shiver of anxiety. Surely he wouldn't begin exactly as Mr. Thornton had. (She remembered now how he had begun.) Did all men say precisely the same things at dances? Perhaps it was a formula, like, "May I have the pleasure?" Was he going to say . . .? He was.
"I'll sit at your feet. It's my proper place," he said, and instantly opened a new gambit; "because I want to be as humble as possible, and I want you not to resent what I'm going to say and snub me. Promise."
"But how do I know that I oughtn't to snub you?" Lucilla asked.
"Don't tempt me to say things that you might want to snub me for. Though I should never—I mean in affairs of my own I am not accustomed to being snubbed. I never advance except on sure ground."
("Oh, what is he going to say?" Lucilla asked herself. "Does he mean that I've encouraged him? Oh, I wish I hadn't come. What an awfully nice voice he has!") "You said you wanted to say something important," she found herself saying aloud. "Why not say it?" ("Come, that's not so bad! Very neat and frosty.")
"I will," said he. "I don't know why I hesitate. I won't. Here goes. It's about Miss Antrobus."
"Oh," said Lucilla flatly, and began to fan herself, though the night air was cool and fresh all about her. "And what about Miss Antrobus?"
"I'm afraid she's going to be a nuisance. She's made up her mind that you have not been at all kind to your aunt, and that the poor old lady has been sent away to some sort of home or institution."
"Good gracious!" said Lucilla feebly.
"She says that Miss Lucas has never been allowed to be
