The thrill of maternal indignation made the old brown silk dress once more give forth a slight electric kind of rustle as this one word was spoken, and Mrs Alleyne’s eyes seemed to lance her child.
“A guilty conscience, Lucy, needs no accuser,” said Mrs Alleyne, in a bitterly contemptuous tone. “You know perfectly well what I mean.”
Lucy glanced half-timidly, half-wonderingly at her mother, but remained silent.
“I will not refuse you my permission to go your daily walks in future, but I must ask you to give me your word that such proceedings as have been reported to me of late shall be at an end.”
Lucy opened her lips to speak, but Mrs Alleyne held up her hand.
“If you are going to say that you do not know what I mean, pray hesitate. I refer to your meetings with Captain Rolph.”
Lucy’s shame and dismay had been swept away by a feeling of resentment now, and, giving her little foot a pettish stamp, she exclaimed,—
“The country side is free to Captain Rolph as well as to me, mamma. I know him from meeting him at the hall. I cannot help it if he speaks to me when I am out.”
“But you can help making appointments with him,” retorted Mrs Alleyne.
“I never did, mamma. I declare I never did,” cried Lucy with spirit.