Lucilla, now nearly fourteen, looked younger from the unusual smallness of her stature, and the exceeding delicacy of her features and complexion, and she would never have been imagined to be two years the senior of the handsome-faced, large-limbed young Saxon who had so far outstripped her in height; and yet there was something in those deep blue eyes, that on a second glance proclaimed a keen intelligence as much above her age as her appearance was below it.
‘What’s the matter?’ said she, rather suddenly.
‘Yes, sweetest Honey,’ added the boy, ‘you look bothered. Is that rascal not paying his rent?’
‘No!’ she said, ‘it is a different matter entirely. What do you think of an invitation to Castle Blanch?’
‘For us all?’ asked Owen.
‘Yes, all, to meet your Uncle Christopher, the last week in August.’
‘Why can’t he come here?’ asked Lucilla.
‘I believe we must go,’ said Honora. ‘You ought to know both your uncles, and they should be consulted before Owen goes to school.’
‘I wonder if they will examine me,’ said Owen. ‘How they will stare to find Sweet Honey’s teaching as good as all their preparatory schools.’
‘Conceited boy.’