“Oh, dear me! I don't know.”
Lucia was called.
“Mr. Solley wishes to ask you—a—something.”
“I wish to ask if my son has treated you badly,” said Mr. Solley, most absurdly.
“Not at all, Mr. Solley.”
Lucia's eyes were suddenly hot and shining.
“I beg your pardon, but if John is a scoundrel, you will do me a favor by telling me so.”
“Where is he? I shall do nothing of the kind.”
“I am about to write to my son.”
“And that's nothing to me,” she cried, and went swiftly out of the room.