Lucy coloured with pleasure, for all was most thoughtfully contrived. Even choice leaves in a neat bunch were included, ready for decorating the fruit in the dessert dishes. But directly after she could not help sharing her mother’s annoyance—it seemed so like looking upon them as poor.
“It is almost an insult,” said Mrs Alleyne at last.
Lucy looked up at her wistfully, with the cloud now crossing her own bright little face.
“It is because we live in so humble a manner,” cried Mrs Alleyne, angrily. “It is cruel—a display of arrogance—because I choose to live quietly that Moray may proceed with his great discoveries in science.”
Lucy gazed at her mother’s face, in which she could read the growing anger and mortification.
“Oh, I wish Moray had not been so ready to invite them,” she said to herself.
“The things shall go back,” exclaimed Mrs Alleyne at last.
“Oh, mamma,” whispered Lucy, clinging to her and trying to calm her anger, “don’t—pray don’t say that. It is only a present of fruit and flowers, after all.”
“You will not send the things back, mamma.”
Mrs Alleyne was silent for a few moments, and then said huskily,—