She laughed. “Very well, but if I am so horrid, perhaps it would be better for me to go to stay with Sancia.”
“Understand this!” said Mr. Rivenhall. “My uncle left you expressly to my mother’s care, and in this house you will remain until such time as he returns to England! As for these nonsensical notions about the Marquesa, you are not to be held responsible for anything she may choose to do!”
“Where the well-being of the persons to whom one is attached is concerned, one cannot say that one is not responsible,” said Sophy simply. “One should make a push to be of service. Yet I do not perceive what I should do in this event. I wish it had been possible for Sancia to have stayed in Sir Horace’s own house!”
“At Ashtead? How should that serve?”
“It is not so near to town,” she pointed out.
“Sixteen or seventeen miles only, I daresay!”
“More than twice as far away as Merton, however, But it is useless to repine over that. Sir Horace says the place is in disrepair, quite unfit to live in. He means to set it all to rights when he comes back to England — I only wish it may not be too late!”
“Why should it be too late?” asked Mr. Rivenhall, willfully misunderstanding her. “I assume Lacy Manor does not stand entirely empty! Does not my uncle leave some servants in charge?”
“Only the Claverings, and, I suppose, a man to look after the gardens and the farm. But that, you know very well, is not what I meant!”
“If you take my advice,” said Mr. Rivenhall, “you will not meddle in the Marquesa’s affairs!” He added caustically, “Or in anyone else’s! And spare yourself the trouble of telling me that you do not mean to take my advice, for that I know already!”