Lucia took a spoonful of soup in a leisurely manner.
"I don't think it is supposed to have any; but—but I don't think she minds that. I feel as if I shouldn't if I were in her place. I have always thought her very lucky."
"You have thought her lucky!" cried my lady. "You have envied a Nevada young woman, who dresses like an actress, and loads herself with jewels like a barbarian? A girl whose conduct toward men is of a character to—to chill one's blood!"
"They admire her," said Lucia simply, "more than they admire Lydia Egerton, and more than they admire me."
"Do you admire her?" demanded my lady.
"Yes, grandmamma," replied Lucia courageously. "I think I do."
Never had my lady been so astounded in her life. For a moment she could scarcely speak. When she recovered herself she pointed to the door.
"Go to your room," she commanded. "This is American freedom of speech, I suppose. Go to your room."
Lucia rose obediently. She could not help wondering what her ladyship's course would be if she had the hardihood to disregard her order. She really looked quite capable of carrying it out forcibly herself. When the girl stood at her bedroom window, a few minutes later, her cheeks were burning and her hands trembling.
"I am afraid it was very badly done," she said to herself. "I am sure it was; but—but it will be a kind of practice. I was in such a hurry to try if I were equal to it, that I didn't seem to balance things quite rightly. I ought to have waited until I had more reason to speak out. Perhaps there wasn't enough reason then, and I was more aggressive than I ought to have been. Octavia is never aggressive. I wonder if I was at all pert. I don't think Octavia ever means to be pert. I felt a little as if I meant to be pert. I must learn to balance myself, and only be cool and frank."