“Nonsense, Maggie! As if any one could tremble at me! You think he is conceited, I see that. But you don’t dislike him, do you?”
“Dislike him! No. Am I in the habit of seeing such charming people, that I should be very difficult to please? Besides, how could I dislike any one that promised to make you happy, my dear thing!” Maggie pinched Lucy’s dimpled chin.
“We shall have more music to-morrow evening,” said Lucy, looking happy already, “for Stephen will bring Philip Wakem with him.”
“Oh, Lucy, I can’t see him,” said Maggie, turning pale. “At least, I could not see him without Tom’s leave.”
“Is Tom such a tyrant as that?” said Lucy, surprised. “I’ll take the responsibility, then,—tell him it was my fault.”
“But, dear,” said Maggie, falteringly, “I promised Tom very solemnly, before my father’s death,—I promised him I would not speak to Philip without his knowledge and consent. And I have a great dread of opening the subject with Tom,—of getting into a quarrel with him again.”
“But I never heard of anything so strange and unreasonable. What harm can poor Philip have done? May I speak to Tom about it?”
“Oh no, pray don’t, dear,” said Maggie. “I’ll go to him myself to-morrow, and tell him that you wish Philip to come. I’ve thought before of asking him to absolve me from my promise, but I’ve not had the courage to determine on it.”
They were both silent for some moments, and then Lucy said,—
“Maggie, you have secrets from me, and I have none from you.”