“I was not aware of it,” said Lucy.
She had, however, been so informed in Fanny’s letter, but all that had gone out of her head.
“Yes; he has come back. He has been in Norway, you know,—fishing.”
“Yes,” said Lucy.
“I am sure you will remember all that took place when you came to me, not long ago, in my little room upstairs at Framley Court.”
In answer to which, Lucy, quivering in every nerve, and wrongly thinking that she was visibly shaking in every limb, timidly answered that she did remember. Why was it that she had then been so bold, and now was so poor a coward?
“Well, my dear, all that I said to you then I said to you thinking that it was for the best. You, at any rate, will not be angry with me for loving my own son better than I love any one else.”
“Oh, no,” said Lucy.
“He is the best of sons, and the best of men, and I am sure that he will be the best of husbands.”
Lucy had an idea, by instinct, however, rather than by sight, that Lady Lufton’s eyes were full of tears as she spoke. As for herself she was altogether blinded and did not dare to lift her face or to turn her head. As for the utterance of any sound, that was quite out of the question.