‘I am,’ she said.
‘Well, then, I love this smoky old black wife of mine, and don’t want to leave her even for my sisters.’
‘I never thought of your leaving her for your sisters, but—’ and as Lucilla’s music effectually veiled all words—‘I had thought that there might be other considerations.’ Her eyes spoke the rest.
‘I thought you knew that folly had passed away,’ he said, somewhat sternly. ‘I trust that no one else has thought of it!’ and he indicated Miss Charlecote.
‘Not when the offer was made to you, but since she heard of my mission.’
‘Then I am glad that on other grounds my mind was made up. No,’ after a pause, ‘there is a great change. She is far superior to what she was in the days of my madness, but it is over, and never could be renewed. She herself does not desire it.’
Phœbe was called to the piano, not sorry that such should be Robert’s conviction, and glad that he should not be disturbed in work that suited him so well as did St. Matthew’s, but thinking him far too valuable for Lucy not to suffer in losing her power over him.
And did she?
She was alone in the cedar parlour with Honor the next day, when the note was brought in announcing his refusal on the ground that while he found his strength and health equal to the calls of his present cure, and his connection with the Fulmort firm gave him unusual facilities in dealing with the workmen, he did not think he ought to resign his charge for another for which many better men might be found.
‘Quite right; I knew it,’ said Lucilla, when Honor had with some attempt at preparation shown her the note.