Lucian was as straightforward and to the point as ever, and, as his friend did not at once answer, he said—
“I thought you knew it—and it’s a comfort to speak out. You see how the mother takes it, and poor old Jackson (he’s out here with two of his sisters, you know), he thinks he ought to cheer me up.”
“Dear Lucy,” said Sylvester, “talk just as you like, and when you like; I’m too glad to help you.”
“Could you make the mother understand by degrees? It’s very bad for her. You see James Leigh is only a distant cousin, and he must have Toppings. She thought so much of my living here, I wish she’d give me up.”
“I’ll try,” said Sylvester; “but she will come to it in her own time.”
“Your father could help her. Syl, do you think he could come out here by and by? He would make it much easier for my mother, and I should like to do all that’s right, and prepare myself as much as possible.”
“I am sure he will come, if you wish it.”
“And then—Amethyst. The Jacksons know her and Una, they met them in the autumn. But I shall never see her again. Wasn’t it odd that we talked of her that last day in Orkney? Ask her to forgive me for being such a fool. Give her my love. I wish I could have taken care of her. I wish I could know she was happy.”
“I will tell her everything. Don’t talk too much now, dear boy, there’ll be plenty of chances.”
“I don’t know. You see, sometimes, speaking hurts me so badly; but I’ve thought it all over, in and out. You know, Syl, if I’d been in the army, and got killed out in Egypt or anywhere, you would have thought nothing of it, though I am young. And we’re bound to believe that it’s all right, and God’s will, as it is.”