“I accept no excuses, Lucy; such a rare opportunity may not occur to me in a hurry. Mrs. Brennan, my housekeeper, will be so proud to see you, that I 'm not sure she 'll not treat these gentlemen to her brandy peaches,—a delicacy, I feel bound to say, she has never conceded to any one less than the bishop of the diocese.”
“Don't ask me, doctor. I know that papa—”
But he broke in, saying,—“'You know I 'm your priest, and your conscience is mine;' and besides, I really do want to see how the parsonage will look with a lady at the top of the table: who knows what it may lead to?”
“Come, Lucy, that's the nearest thing to a proposal I 've heard for some time. You really must go now,” said Tom.
“Papa will not like it,” whispered she in his ear.
“Then he'll have to settle the matter with me, Lucy,” said the doctor, “for it was I who overruled you.”
“Don't look to me, Miss Lendrick, to sustain you in your refusal,” said Sir Brook, as the young girl turned towards him. “I have the strongest interest in seeing the doctor successful.”
If Trafford said nothing, the glance he gave her more than backed the old man's speech, and she turned away half vexed, half pleased, puzzled how to act, and flattered at the same time by an amount of attention so new to her and so strange. Still she could not bring herself to promise she would go, and wished them all good-night at last, without a pledge.
“Of course she will,” muttered Tom in the doctor's ear. “She's afraid of the governor; but I know he'll not be displeased,—you may reckon on her.”