to be ashamed; "but it is so strange to
think of you in that way, Mary. I always thought you were too--too
sensible for that sort of thing," which was a reproach that went to
Miss Wodehouse's heart.

"Oh, Lucy, dear," said that mild woman, who in this view of the matter
became as much ashamed of herself as Lucy could desire, "what could I
do? I know what you mean, at my time of life; but I could not let you
be dependent on Tom, my darling," said Miss Wodehouse, with a
deprecating appealing look.

"No indeed," said Lucy; "that would be impossible under any
circumstances: nor on you either, Mary dear. I can do something to
make a living, and I should like it. I have always been fond of work.
I will not permit you to sacrifice yourself for me," said the younger
sister, with some dignity. "I see how it has been. I felt sure it was
not of your own accord."

Miss Wodehouse wrung her hands with dismay and perplexity. What was
she to do if Lucy stood out and refused her consent? She could not
humble herself so far as to confess that she rather liked Mr Proctor,
and was, on the whole, not displeased to be married; for the feeling
that Lucy expected her to be too sensible for that sort of thing
overawed the poor lady. "But, Lucy, I have given him my promise," said
poor Miss Wodehouse. "It--it would make him very unhappy. I can't use
him badly, Lucy dear."

"I will speak to him, and explain if it is necessary. Whatever
happens, I can't let you sacrifice yourself for me," said Lucy. All
the answer Miss Wodehouse could make was expressed in the tears of
vexation and mortification which rushed to her eyes. She repelled her
young sister's ministrations for the first time in her life with hasty
impatience. Her troubles had not been few for the last twenty-four
hours. She had been questioned about Tom till she had altogether lost
her head, and scarcely knew what she was saying; and Lucy had not
applauded that notable expedient of throwing the shame of the family
upon Mr Wentworth, to be concealed and taken care of, which had
brought so many vexations to the Perpetual Curate. Miss Wodehouse at
last was driven to bay. She had done all for the best, but nobody gave
her any credit for it; and now this last step, by which she had meant
to provide a home for Lucy, was about to be contradicted and put a
stop to altogether. She put away Lucy's arm, and rejected her
consolations. "What is the use of pretending to be fond of me if I am
alwa