“But you go in places where he is likely to be seen; and even if he were an eligible suitor for your hand, is this the way a child of mine should behave? Giving open countenance to the wretched tittle-tattle of this out-of-the-way place.”
“And pray, who has been talking about me?” cried Lucy angrily.
“The poor people at the cottages—the servants. It is commonly known. I spoke to Mr Oldroyd yesterday.”
“And what did he dare to say?” cried Lucy, flaming up.
“He would not say anything, but from his manner it was plain to see that he knew.”
“Oh!” sighed Lucy, with an expiration that betokened intense relief.
“I have not yet spoken to Moray, but I feel that it is my duty to tell him all, and to bid him call Captain Rolph to account for what looks to me like a very ungentlemanly pursuit, and one that you must have encouraged.”
Lucy wanted to exclaim that she had not encouraged him; but here her conscience interposed, and she remained silent, while Mrs Alleyne went on in her cold, austere manner.
“Far be it from me,” she said, “to wish to check any natural impulses of your young life. It might cause a feeling akin to jealousy, but I should not murmur, Lucy, at your forming some attachment. I should even rejoice if Moray were to love and marry some sweet girl. It would work a change in him and drive away the strange morbid fancies which he shows at times. But clandestine proceedings with such an offensive, repellent person as that Captain Rolph I cannot countenance. I’m sure when Moray knows—”
“But Moray must not know, mamma.”