‘I never said that! I never thought that,’ cried Mrs. Prendergast, shocked at the word and idea that had never crossed her mind.
‘If not,’ said Cilla, ‘it is because you are too innocent to know flirting when you see it! Dear Mrs. Prendergast, I didn’t think you would have looked so grave.’
‘I did not think you would have spoken so lightly; but it is plain that we do not mean the same thing.’
‘In fact, you in your quietness, think awfully of that which for years was to me like breathing! I thought the taste was gone for ever, but, you see’—and her sad sweet expression
pleaded for her—‘you have made me so happy that the old self is come back.’ There was a silence, broken by this strange girl saying, ‘Well, what are you going to do to me?’
‘Only,’ said the lady, in her sweet, full, impressive voice, ‘to beg you will indeed be happy in giving yourself no cause for self-reproach.’
‘I’m past that,’ said Lucilla, with a smile on her lip and a tear in her eye. ‘I’ve not known that sensation since my father died. My chief happiness since that has lain in being provoking, but you have taken away that pleasure. I couldn’t purposely vex you, even if I were your adopted child!’
Without precisely knowing the full amount of these words, Mrs. Prendergast understood past bitterness and present warmth, and, gratified to find that at least there was no galling at their mutual relations, responded with a smile and a caress that led Lucilla to continue—‘As for the word that dismayed you, I only meant to acknowledge an unlucky propensity to be excited about any nonsense, in which any man kind is mixed up. If Sarah would take to it, I could more easily abstain, but you see her coquetries are with nobody more recent than Horace and Dante.’
‘I cannot wish it to be otherwise with her,’ said Mrs. Prendergast gravely.
‘No! It is a bad speculation,’ said Lucilla, sadly. ‘She will never wish half her life could be pulled out like defective crochet; nor wear out good people’s forbearance with her antics. I did think they were outgrown, and beat out of me, and that your nephew was too young; but I suppose it is ingrain, and that I should be flattered by the attentions of a he-baby of six months old! But I’ll do my best, Mrs. Prendergast; I promise you I’ll not be the schoolmistress abroad in the morning, and you shall see what terms I will keep with Mr. Beaumont.’