And Sophy stood among them—that brighter, better Sophy who had so long been obscured, happy to have them at home; talking and asking questions eagerly about the journey, and describing the kindness of the Dusautoys and the goodness of the children.
‘Have you heard from Lucy?’ asked Mr. Kendal, as Albinia went in pursuit of her little boy.
‘Yes—poor Lucy?’
‘Is there no letter from him?’
‘Not for you, papa.’
‘What? Did he write to his uncle?’
‘No, papa—he wrote to me and to Mr. Pettilove. Cannot he be stopped, papa? Can he do any harm? Mr. Dusautoy and Mr. Pettilove think he can.’
‘You mean that he wishes to question the will? You may be quite secure, my dear. Nothing can be more safe.’
‘Oh, papa! I am so very glad. Not to be able to hinder him was so dreadful, when he wanted to pit Lucy and me against you. I could never have looked at you. I should always have felt that you had something to forgive me.’
‘I could not well have confounded you with Algernon, my dear,’ said Mr. Kendal. ‘What did Pettilove mean? Do you know?’