or what?" he said. He did not know what accusation she might be going
to bring against him; and how could he defend himself? Whatever she
might say he was sure to be half guilty; and if she thought him wholly
guilty, how could he prevent it? A hot colour came up upon his
middle-aged face. To have to blush when you are past the age of blushing
is a more terrible necessity than the young can conceive.

"Oh, Tom!" cried Lucy again, "for Bice! Can we stand by and let her be
sacrificed? She is not much more than a child; and she is always so good
to little Tom."

"For Bice!" he cried. In the relief of his mind he was ready to have
done anything for Bice. He laughed with a somewhat nervous tremulous
outburst. "Why, what is the matter with her?" he said. "She did her part
last night with assurance enough. She is young indeed, but she ought to
have known better than that."

"She is very young, and it is the way she has been brought up--how
should she know any better? But, Tom, if she had any fortune she would
not be compelled to marry. How can we stand by and see her sacrificed to
that odious young man?"

"What odious young man?" said Sir Tom, astonished, and then with another
burst of his old laughter such as had not been heard for weeks, he cried
out: "Montjoie! Why, Lucy, are you crazy? Half the girls in England are
in competition for him. Sacrificed to----! She will be in the greatest
luck if she ever has such a chance."

Lucy gave him a reproachful look.

"How can you say so? A little vulgar boy--a creature not worthy to----"

"My dear, you are prejudiced. You are taking Jock's view. That worthy's
opinion of a fellow who never rose above Lower Fourth is to be received
with reservation. A fellow may be a scug, and yet not a bad fellow--that
is what Jock has yet to learn."

"Oh, Tom, I cannot laugh," said Lucy. "What can she do, the Contessa
says? She must marry the first that offers, and in the meantime she
attracts notice _like that_. It is dreadful to think of it. I think that
some one--that we--I--ought to interfere."

"My innocent Lucy," said Sir Tom, "how can you interfere? You know
nothing about the tactics of such people. I am very penitent for my
share in the matter. I ought not to have brought so much upon you."

"Oh, Tom," cried Lucy again, drawing closer to him, eager to anticipate
with her pardon any blame to which he might be liable. And then she
added, returning to her own subject: "She is of Englis