go and speak to Lolly, and hastened out of the room. Lucy, in her
dishabille, sat crouched upon the bed, her white bare shoulders and
floating hair, together with the defiant glance of the blue eye, and the
hand moodily compressing the lips, reminding Honor of the little creature
who had been summarily carried into her house sixteen years since. She
came towards her, but there was no invitation to give the caress that she
yearned to bestow, and she leant against the bed, trembling, as she said,
'Lucy, my poor child, I am come that you may not throw away your last
chance without knowing it. You do not realize what you are about. If
you cast aside esteem and reliance, how can you expect to retain the
affection you sometimes seem to prize?'

'If I am not trusted, what's the good of affection?'

'How can you expect trust when you go beyond the bounds of discretion?'
said Honor, with voice scarcely steadied into her desired firmness.

'I can, I do!'

'Lucy, listen to me.' She gave way to her natural piteous, pleading
tone: 'I verily believe that this is the very turn. Remember how often a
moment has decided the fate of a life!' She saw the expression relax
into some alarm, and continued: 'The Fulmorts do not say so, but I see by
their manner that his final decision will be influenced by your present
proceedings. You have trifled with him too long, and with his mind made
up to the ministry, he cannot continue to think of one who persists in
outraging decorum.'

Those words were effort enough, and had better have been unsaid. 'That
is as people may think,' was all the answer.

'As he thinks?'

'How do I know what he thinks?'

Heartsick at such mere fencing, Honor was silent at first, then said, 'I,
for one, shall rate your good opinion by your endeavour to deserve it.
Who can suppose that you value what you are willing to risk for an
unladylike bet, or an unfeminine sporting expedition!'

'You may tell him so,' said Lucilla, her voice quivering with passion.

'You think a look will bring him back, but you may find that a true man
is no slave. Prove his affection misplaced, and he will tear it away.'

Had Honora been discreet as she was good, she would have left those words
to settle down; but, woman that she was, she knew not when to stop, and
coaxingly coming to the small bundle of perverseness, she touched the
shoulder, and said, 'Now you won't make an object of yourself to-night?'

The shoulder shook