Nothing but the sweet tone and sad arch smile could have made this speech endurable to Robert, even though he remembered many times when the trembling of the scale in Miss Charlecote’s hands had filled him with indignation. ‘You allow that it was justice,’ he said, smiling.
‘No doubt of that,’ she laughed. ‘Poor Honor! I must
have been a grievous visitation, but I am very good now; I shall come and spend Sunday as gravely as a judge, and when you come to Wrapworth, you shall see how I can go to the school when it is not forced down my throat—no merit either, for our mistress is perfectly charming, with such a voice! If I were Phœbe I would look out, for Owen is desperately smitten.’
‘Phœbe!’ repeated Robert, with a startled look.
‘Owen and Phœbe! I considered it une affaire arrangée as much as—’ She had almost said you and me: Robert could supply the omission, but he was only blind of one eye, and gravely said, ‘It is well there is plenty of time before Owen to tame him down.’
‘Oney,’ laughed Lucilla; ‘yes, he has a good deal to do in that line, with his opinions in such a mess that I really don’t know what he does believe.’
Though the information was not new to Robert, her levity dismayed him, and he gravely began, ‘If you have such fears—’ but she cut him off short.
‘Did you ever play at bagatelle?’
He stared in displeased surprise.
‘Did you never see the ball go joggling about before it could settle into its hole, and yet abiding there very steadily at last? Look on quietly, and you will see the poor fellow as sober a parish priest as yourself.’