‘There, now you have put it into my head to think what a pleasure it would be to you—’
‘I have done enough for my own pleasure, Phœbe. Had you only seen that boy when I had him first from his father, and thought him too much of the angel to live!’
There was a long pause, and Honor at length exclaimed, ‘I see the chief reason the Savilles came here!’
‘Why?’
‘To hinder my seeing him before he goes.’
‘I am sure it would be sad pain to you,’ cried Phœbe, deprecatingly.
‘I don’t know. He must not come here; but since I have had this letter, I have longed to go up for one day, see him, and bring Lucy home. Mr. Saville might go with me. You don’t favour it, Phœbe? Would Robert?’
‘Robert would like to have Owen comforted,’ said Phœbe, slowly; ‘but not if it only made it worse pain for you. Dear Miss Charlecote, don’t you think, if the worst had been the marriage, you would have tried everything to comfort him? but now that there is this other horrid thing, this presuming on your kindness, it seems to me as if you could not bear to see him.’
‘When I think of their enmity and his sorrow, I feel drawn thither; but when this deception comes before me, I had rather not look in his face again. If he petted me I should think he was taking me in again. He has Robert, he has his sister, and
I have promised to let Mr. Saville judge. I think Mr. Saville would let me go if Robert said I ought.’