While she thus ran on, Lucy's thoughts never strayed from a certain letter which had once thrown a dark shadow over her, and even yet left a gloomy memory behind it. The rapidity with which Mrs. Sewell spoke, too, had less the air of one carried away by the strong current of feeling than of a speaker who was uttering everything, anything, to relieve her own overburdened mind.
“You look very grave, Lucy,” went she on. “I suspect I know what's passing in that little brain. You are doubting if I should be the fittest person to employ on the negotiation; come, now, confess it.”
“You have guessed aright,” said Lucy, gravely.
“But all that 's past and over, child. The whole is a mere memory now, if even so much. Men have a trick of thinking, once they have interested a woman on their behalf, that the sentiment survives all changes of time and circumstance, and that they can come back after years and claim the deposit; but it is a great mistake, as he has found by this time. But don't let this make you unhappy, dear; there never was less cause for unhappiness. It is just of these sort of men the model husbands are made. The male heart is a very tough piece of anatomy, and requires a good deal of manipulation to make it tender, and, as you will learn one day, it is far better all this should be done before marriage than after.—Well, Jane, I did begin to think you had forgotten about the chocolate. It is about an hour since I asked for it.”
“Indeed, ma'am, it was Mr. Cheetor's fault; he was a shooting rabbits with another gentleman.”
“There, there, spare me Mr. Cheetor's diversions, and fetch me some sugar.”
“Mr. Lendrick and another gentleman, ma'am, is below, and wants to see Miss Lucy.”
“A young gentleman, Jane?” asked Mrs. Sewell, while her eyes flashed with a sudden fierce brilliancy.
“No, ma'am, an old gentleman, with a white beard, very tall and stern to look at.”
“We don't care for descriptions of old gentlemen, Jane. Do we, Lucy? Must you go, darling?”