‘Turning you out?’
‘Oh, I meant your throwing yourself away on a broken-down governess! There—let us have done with nonsense. Come in this way.’
It was through the churchyard, past the three graves, which were as trim as if Lucilla had daily tended them. ‘Thank you,’ she said; then gazed in silence, till with a sigh she exclaimed:—
‘Poor Edna! Monument of my faults! What perverse determination of mine it was that laid her here!’
‘It was your generous feeling.’
‘Do not miscall and embellish my perverse tyranny, as much to defy the Charterises as to do her justice. I am more ashamed now that I have the secret of your yielding!’ she added, with downcast eyes, yet a sudden smile at the end.
‘We will take that child home and bring him up,’ said Mr. Prendergast.
‘If his father wishes it, it will be right; not as if it were the pleasantest of charges. Thank you,’ said Cilla. ‘Three o’clock! Poor Honor, she must be starving!’
‘What about her?’ stammered Mr. Prendergast, hanging back shyly. ‘Must she be told?’
‘Not now,’ said Lucilla, with all her alert readiness. ‘I will tell her to-night. You will come in the first day you can!’