When Lady Theobald descended to breakfast, she found him growling over his newspaper; and he glanced up at her with a polite scowl.
"Going to a funeral?" he demanded.
"I accompany my granddaughter to this—this entertainment," her ladyship responded. "It is scarcely a joyous occasion, to my mind."
"No need to dress yourself like that, if it isn't," ejaculated Mr. Binnie. "Why don't you stay at home, if you don't want to go? Man's all right, isn't he? Once knew a man by the name of Burmistone, myself. One of the few decent fellows I've met. If I were sure this was the same man, I'd go myself. When I find a fellow who's neither knave nor fool, I stick to him. Believe I'll send to find out. Where's Lucia?"
What his opinion of Lucia was, it was difficult to discover. He had an agreeable habit of staring at her over the top of his paper, and over his dinner. The only time he had made any comment upon her, was the first time he saw her in the dress she had copied from Octavia's. "Nice gown that," he blurted out: "didn't get it here, I'll wager."
"It's an old dress I remodelled," answered Lucia somewhat alarmed. "I made it myself."
"Doesn't look like it," he said gruffly.
Lucia had touched up another dress, and was very happy in the prospect of wearing it at the garden-party.
"Don't call on grandmamma until after Wednesday," she had said to Mr. Burmistone: "perhaps she wouldn't let me go. She will be very angry, I am sure."
"And you are not afraid?"