“Well, then, as she is always angry if you call her my lady, I thought she was angry with me for the same reason, so I said, ‘Sempronia, keep your temper,’—and didn’t I get a box on the ear.”
I could not help laughing at this recital of his cool impudence, the more so as he narrated it with such an air of injured innocence.
“Indeed, Lionel,” said I at last, “you well deserved the box on the ear. If you ever quit the service of Lady R—, you will find that you must behave with proper respect to those above you; if not, you will not remain an hour in any other house. Lady R— is very odd and very good-tempered, and permits more liberties than any other person would. I will, however, tell you why Lady R— is displeased. It is because she wishes me to go to France with her and I have refused.”
“Then you are going to leave us?” inquired Lionel, mournfully.
“I suppose so,” replied I.
“Then I shall go, too,” said the boy. “I’m tired of it.”
“But why should you go, Lionel? You may not find another situation half so comfortable.”
“I shall not seek one. I have only stayed here with the hope that I may find out from her ladyship who and what my parents were, and she will not tell me. I shall live by my wits, never fear; ‘the world’s my oyster,’ as Shakespeare says, and I think I’ve wit enough to open it.”
I had not forgotten the observations of Lady M— relative to Lionel, and what the lad now said made me surmise that there was some mystery, and, on examination of his countenance, there was a family likeness to Lady R—. I also called to mind her unwillingness to enter upon the subject when I brought it up.
“But, Lionel,” said I, after a pause, “what is it that makes you suppose that Lady R— conceals who were your parents—when we last talked on the subject, you said you had found out something—she told me that your father was a bailiff, or steward to Sir Richard.”