“I remember now that you never had much sensibility,” said Piers. “You are such a child!” He turned again to the interested abigail. “Now, Lucy, attend to me! You must take a letter back to your mistress, and assure her besides that I shall not fail. Are you prepared to accompany us to Scotland?”
She gaped at him for a moment, but however strange the idea might have been to her it apparently pleased her, for she nodded vehemently, and said: “Oh yes, sir, thank you, sir!”
“Who ever heard of taking a maid on an elopement?” demanded Pen.
“I will not ask Lydia to fly with me without some female to go with her!” declared Piers nobly.
“Dear me, I should think she would wish the girl at Jericho!”
“Lydia is quite unused to waiting upon herself,” said Piers. “Moreover, the presence of her maid must lend respectability to our flight.”
“Has she a little lap-dog she would like to take with her too?” asked Pen innocently.
Piers cast her a quelling look, and stalked across the room to a small writing-table near the window. After testing the pen that lay on it, mending it, and dipping it in the standish, he then sat while the ink dried on it, frowning over what he should write to his betrothed. Finally, he dipped the pen in the standish once more, and began to write, punctuating his labour with reminders to Lucy to see that her mistress had a warm cloak, and did not bring too many bandboxes with her.
“Or the parrot,” interpolated Pen.
“Lor’, sir, Miss Lydia hasn’t got any parrot!”