True to his appointment, Owen arrived alone on a car chosen with all regard to Horatia’s comfort, and was most actively attentive in settling on it the ladies and their luggage, stretching himself out on the opposite side, his face raised to the clouds, as he whistled an air; but his eye was still restless, and his sister resolved on questioning him.
Opportunities were, however, rare; whether or not with the design of warding off a tête-à-tête, he devoted himself to his cousin’s service in a manner rare to her since she had laid herself out to be treated as though her name were Horace instead of Horatia. However, Lucilla was not the woman to be balked of a settled purpose; and at their hotel, at Dublin, she nailed him fast by turning back on him when Horatia bade them good night. ‘Well, what do you want?’ he asked, annoyed.
‘I want to speak to you.’
‘I hope it is to beg me to write to ask Honor to receive you at home, and promise to behave like a decent and respectable person.’
‘I want neither a judge nor an intercessor in you.’
‘Come, Lucy, it really would be for every one’s good if you would go and take care of poor Honor. You have been using her vilely, and I should think you’d had enough of Rashe for one while.’
‘If I have used her vilely, at least I have dealt openly by her,’ said Lucilla. ‘She has always seen the worst of me on the surface. Can you bear to talk of her when you know how you are treating her?’
He coloured violently, and his furious gesture would have intimidated most sisters; but she stood her ground, and answered his stammering demand what she dared to imply.
‘You may go into a passion, but you cannot hinder me from esteeming it shameful to make her mission a cover for associating with one whom she would regard with so much horror as Jack Hastings.’
‘Jack Hastings!’ cried Owen, to her amazement, bursting into a fit of laughter, loud, long, and explosive. ‘Well done, Rashe!’