“Ay, Madam.”
“Hast one posy left o’er? Set it here, by my chair, child. Dost know where is Blanche?”
“No, Madam.”
“And Lucrece?”
“No, Madam.”
Clare’s conscience smote her as soon as she had given this answer. Certainly she did not know where Lucrece was; but she could very well guess.
“I would thou wert not fully thus bashful, Clare; hast nought but ‘Ay’ and ‘No’?—I would fain have thee seek Lucrece: I desire speech of her.”
Clare did not reply at all this time. She had disposed of her flowers, and she left the room.
Seek Lucrece! Clare had never had a harder task. If the same burden had been laid on them, Lucrece would have left the commission unfulfilled, and Blanche would have sent somebody else. But such alternatives did not even suggest themselves to Clare’s conscientious mind. She went through the hall towards the garden door in search of Lucrece.
“Child, what aileth thee?” asked a voice suddenly, as Clare was opening the garden door.