“I am glad Cecil has you,” he said, “the time may come when he will need you badly. He loves the Abbey—more than I have done, I suppose, or I should have taken more pains to keep it.”
Lee felt half inclined to tell him of Randolph’s promise; but sometimes she thought she knew Randolph, and sometimes she was sure she did not. She had no right to raise hopes, which converse potentialities so nicely balanced. Then she bethought herself of Emmy’s last shot, which had passed out of her memory for the moment. She must speak of it to some one.
“She said something terrible to me just before I left. I’d like to ask you about it.”
“Do. Why didn’t you give her another shaking?”
“I was knocked out: it took all my energies to keep her from seeing it. She said that Abbey lands were cursed, and never descended from father to son.”
Lord Barnstaple dropped her hand and walked to the window again.
“It has been a curious series of coincidences in our case,” he said, “but as our lands were not cursed more vigorously than the others, and as a good many of the others have gone scot free or nearly so, we always hope for better luck next time. There is really no reason why our luck shouldn’t change any day. The old brutes ought to be satisfied, particularly as we’ve taken such good care of their bones.”
“Well, if the Abbey has to go, I hope the next people will be haunted out of it,” said Lee viciously. “I must go and dress for dinner. Don’t worry; I have a fine piece of property, and it is likely to increase in value any day.” She felt justified in saying this much.
“You had an air of bringing good luck with you when you came. It was a fancy, of course, but I remember it impressed me.”
“That is the reason you didn’t scold me for not bringing a million, as Emmy did?”