O most lame and impotent conclusion! But Lucy carried it farther than her words; for when Mr. Stopper entered the next morning, with a face scared into the ludicrous, she, without even waiting to hear what he had to say, though she foreboded evil, rose at once and left the room. Mr. Stopper stood and looked after her in dismayed admiration; for Lucy was one of those few whose anger even is of such an unselfish and unspiteful nature, that it gives a sort of piquancy to their beauty.
"I hope I haven't offended the young lady," said Mr. Stopper, with some concern.
"Never you mind, Mr. Stopper. I've been giving her a hint about Thomas, and she's not got over it yet. Never you mind her. It's me you've got to do with, and I ain't got no fancies."
"It's just as well, perhaps, that she did walk herself away," said Mr. Stopper.
"You've got some news, Mr. Stopper. Sit ye down. Will you have a cup o' tea?"
"No, thank you. Where's the keys, Mrs. Boxall?"
The old lady looked up at the wall, then back at Mr. Stopper.
"Why, go along! There they are in your own hand."
"Yes; but where do you think I found them?—Hanging in the door of the safe, and all the money gone from the cash-box. I haven't got over the shock of it yet."
"Why, good heavens! Mr. Stopper," said the old lady, who was rather out of temper with both herself and Lucy, "you don't think I've been a-robbing of your cash-box, do you?"