“But, mamma, he seems so clever, and to know so much about Moray’s case.”
“Yes, my child—seems; but these young medical men often jump at conclusions, and are ready to take for granted that they understand matters which are completely sealed.”
Lucy coloured slightly, and remained silent.
“For my part,” continued Mrs Alleyne, “I do not feel at all easy respecting Moray’s state, and his health is too serious a thing to be trifled with.”
Lucy’s colour deepened as Mrs Alleyne swept out of the room.
“I’m sure he’s clever, and I’m sure he was quite right about Moray,” she said. “It’s a shame to say so, but I wish mamma would not be so prejudiced. She will not be, though, when she knows Glynne better.”
There was a pause here, and Lucy sat looking very intently before her, the intent gaze in her face being precisely similar to that seen in her brother’s countenance when he was watching a far-off planet, and striving to learn from it something of its mysteries and ways.
But Lucy was not studying some far-off planet, though her task was perhaps as hard, for she was trying to read the future, and to discover what there was in store for her brother and herself. She could not think of Moray being always engaged studying stars, nor of herself as continually at home with her mother leading that secluded life in the sombre brick mansion, finding it cheerless and dull in summer, cold and bleak in winter when the wind roared in the pine trees, till it was as if the sea were beating the shore hard by.
“There is sure to be some change,” she said, brightening up. “I know it, but I hope it will not bring trouble.”
No further allusions were made to the coming visit of the family from Brackley, but the next day and the next, to use Lucy’s words, mamma led her such a life that she wished—and yet she did not wish—that the visit was not coming off, so troublesome did the preparations grow.