How they had failed their father, all of them! Flora resolved passionately that she herself would never fail him. Prayer was the form of self-expression most natural to her, and she made ardent inward supplication that if Lucilla were permitted to follow her own way, good might come of it, and she herself prove worthy of her sacred filial charge. No such exaltation of spirit could be indulged in when Lucilla’s decision had been openly accepted, and her preparations begun.
She preserved all her usual even cheerfulness, and her conversation was rather more severely practical than before.
“Don’t let the key of the storeroom out of your own possession, Flossie, please. I’m sure both the maids are trustworthy, but it’s no use breaking rules.”
And:
“Remember not to order anything eggy when Mr. Clover comes to a meal. He can’t eat eggs.”
“I mean to do my very best for everyone while you’re away. But of course it won’t be the same for Father.”
“I expect it will, if you’re careful,” said Lucilla kindly. “Don’t let her put flavourings into everything, though—he can’t bear them.”
She seemed not at all preoccupied with less material considerations.
Even at the last, she bade them good-bye without any of that aspect of remorse which Flora privately considered that she ought to have worn.
The Canon was very kind and forbearing, and said at the last moment: