Mrs. Ricketts glanced frowningly at the obsolete decoration he mentioned; then she smiled. “That’s one of the things I want you to advise me about,” she said. “I don’t know how much of the place to alter and how much to leave as it is. And why will I find Mr. Thompson’s horse tied to our poor old cast-iron darky boy?”
“He’s seen you, hasn’t he?”
“Yes, but he looked startled when I spoke to him. Besides, he used to see me when I was a girl, and he was one of the beaux of the town, and he never came then.”
“He will now,” said Lucius.
“Oh, surely not!” she protested, a little dismayed.
“He couldn’t help it if he tried, poor thing!”
At that she affected to drop him a curtsey, but nevertheless appeared not over-pleased. “You seem to be able to help it, Lucius,” she said; and the colour in his cheeks deepened a little as she went on: “Of course you don’t know that the way you declined to come this evening is one of the things that make life seem such a curious and mixed-up thing to me. After I—when I’d gone away from here to live, you were what I always remembered when I thought of Marlow, Lucius. And I remembered things you’d said to me that I hadn’t thought of at all when you were saying them. It was so strange! I’ve got to knowing you better and better all the long, long time I’ve been away from you—and I could always remember you more clearly than anybody else. It seems queer and almost a little wicked to say it, but I could remember you even more clearly than I could papa and mamma—and, oh! how I’ve looked forward to seeing you again and to having you talk to me about everything! Why won’t you come this evening? Aren’t you really glad I’m home again?”
“That’s the trouble!” he said; and seemed to feel that he had offered a satisfactory explanation.
“What in the world do you mean?” she cried.
“I gather,” he said slowly, “from what you’ve said, that you think more about me when I’m not around where you have to look at me! Besides——”