“It is very unfortunate—very.”
“I do not think Lucy has been to blame,” said Mrs. Robarts; and as she spoke the blood was already mounting to her cheeks.
“Do not be too anxious to defend her, my dear, before any one accuses her. Whenever a person does that it looks as though their cause were weak.”
“But my cause is not weak as far as Lucy is concerned; I feel quite sure that she has not been to blame.”
“I know how obstinate you can be, Fanny, when you think it necessary to dub yourself any one’s champion. Don Quixote was not a better knight-errant than you are. But is it not a pity to take up your lance and shield before an enemy is within sight or hearing? But that was ever the way with your Don Quixotes.”
“Perhaps there may be an enemy in ambush.” That was Mrs. Robarts’ thought to herself, but she did not dare to express it, so she remained silent.
“My only hope is,” continued Lady Lufton, “that when my back is turned you fight as gallantly for me.”
“Ah, you are never under a cloud, like poor Lucy.”
“Am I not? But, Fanny, you do not see all the clouds. The sun does not always shine for any of us, and the down-pouring rain and the heavy wind scatter also my fairest flowers,—as they have done hers, poor girl. Dear Fanny, I hope it may be long before any cloud comes across the brightness of your heaven. Of all the creatures I know you are the one most fitted for quiet continued sunshine.”
And then Mrs. Robarts did get up and embrace her friend, thus hiding the tears which were running down her face. Continued sunshine indeed! A dark spot had already gathered on her horizon which was likely to fall in a very waterspout of rain. What was to come of that terrible notice which was now lying in the desk under Lady Lufton’s very arm?