nonsense; but I don't
believe you are in earnest,' growled the curate, angry at last.

'That is encouragement!' cried Lucilla, flying off laughing that she
might hide from herself her own nervousness and dismay at this sudden
step into the hard verity of self-dependence.

She could not stop to consider what to say or do, her refuge was always
in the impromptu, and she was far more bent on forcing Mr. Prendergast to
smile, and distracting herself from her one aching desire that the Irish
journey had never been, than of forming any plan of action. In walking
to the cabstand they met Robert, and exchanged greetings; a sick
faintness came over her, but she talked it down, and her laugh sounded in
his ears when they had passed on.

Yet when the lodgings were reached, the sensation recurred, her breath
came short, and she could hardly conceal her trembling. No one was in
the room but a lady who would have had far to seek for a governess less
beautiful than herself. Insignificance was the first idea she inspired,
motherliness the second, the third that she was a perfect lady, and a
sensible woman. After shaking Lucilla kindly by the hand, and seating
her on the sofa, she turned to her cousin, saying, 'Sarah and her papa
are at the National Gallery, I wish you would look for them, or they will
never be in time for luncheon.'

'Luncheon is not for an hour and a half.'

'But it is twenty minutes' walk, and they will forget food and everything
else unless you keep them in order.'

'I'll go presently;' but he did not move, only looking piteous while Mrs.
Prendergast began talking to Lucilla about the pictures, until she,
recovering, detected the state of affairs, and exclaimed with her ready
grace and abruptness, 'Now, Mr. Prendergast, don't you see how much you
are in the way?'

'A plain truth, Peter,' said his cousin, laughing.

Lucy stepped forward to him, saying affectionately, 'Please go; you can't
help me, and I am sure you may trust me with Mrs. Prendergast;' and she
stretched out a hand to the lady with an irresistible child-like gesture
of confidence.

'Don't you think you may, Peter?' asked Mrs. Prendergast, holding the
hand; 'you shall find her here at luncheon. I won't do anything to her.'

The good curate groaned himself off, and Lucy felt so much restored that
she had almost forgotten that it was not an ordinary call. Indeed she
had never yet heard a woman's voice that thus attracted and softened her