“I will do neither; nor will I sit here to listen to one word against him.”
“Which means, child, that your knowledge of life is so-much greater than mine, you can trust implicitly to your own judgment. I can admire your courage, certainly, though I am not captivated by your prudence.”
“It is because I have so little faith in my own judgment that I am unwilling to lose the friend who can guide me.”
“Perhaps it would be unsafe if I were to ask you to choose between him and me,” said Mrs. Sewell, very slowly, and with her eyes fully bent on Lucy.
“I hope you will not.”
“With such a warning I certainly shall not do so. Who-could have believed it was so late?” said she, hastily looking at her watch; “What a seductive creature you must be, child, to slip over one's whole morning without knowing it,—two o'clock already. You lunch about this time?”
“Yes, punctually at two.”
“Are you sufficiently lady of the house to invite me, Lucy?”
“I am sure you need no invitation here; you are one of us.”
“What a little Jesuit it is!” said Mrs. Sewell, patting her cheek. “Come, child, I 'll be equal with you. I 'll enter the room on your arm, and say, 'Sir William, your granddaughter insisted on my remaining; I thought it an awkwardness, but she tells me she is the mistress here, and I obey.'”