“You'd probably have been shot if you had stayed,” replied Tom.
“There are things we submit to in life, not because the penalty of resistance affrights us, but because we half acquiesce in their justice. You, for instance, Trafford, are well pleased to be here on leave, and enjoy yourself, as I take it, considerably; and yet the call of duty—some very commonplace duty, perhaps—would make you return tomorrow in all haste.”
“Of course it would,” said Lucy.
“I 'm not so sure of it,” murmured Trafford, sullenly; “I 'd rather go into close arrest for a week than I 'd lose this day here.”
“Bravo! here's your health, Lionel,” cried Tom. “I do like to hear a fellow say he is willing to pay the cost of what pleases him.”
“I must preach wholesome doctrine, my young friends,” broke in the vicar. “Now that we have dined well, I would like to say aword on abstinence.”
“You mean to take no coffee, doctor, then?” asked Lucy, laughing.
“That I do, my sweet child,—coffee and a pipe, too, for I know you are tolerant of tobacco.”
“I hope she is,” said Tom, “or she 'd have a poor time of it in the house with me.”
“I 'll put no coercion upon my tastes on this occasion, for I 'll take a stroll through the ruins, and leave you to your wine,” said she, rising.