"I'd just as soon sleep with a cannon-ball at my back," the good soul told Lydia. But she never uttered a more violent protest.
Lydia never entered the locked bedroom off the kitchen. Amos,
self-absorbed and over-worked, asked no questions, but one night in
April, John Levine saw Lydia at work on a night dress for Florence
Dombey.
"Where does the young lady sleep?" he asked.
Lydia explained and Lizzie uttered her mild plaint, adding, "Lydia ought to be getting back to her own bed, now warm weather will be coming in."
Lydia caught her lower lip in her teeth but said nothing. Levine scrutinized the curly head bent over the sewing, then went on with his conversation with Amos. He was working quietly on his campaign, a year hence, for the office of sheriff and Amos, who was an influential Mason, was planning to use his influence for his friend. Lydia, absorbed in sad little memories over her sewing or happily drugged in some book, heeded these discussions only subconsciously.
Just before leaving, John asked for a drink of water and Amos went to the pump to bring in a fresh pail. He stopped while there to fuss over a barrel in which he had an old hen setting on some eggs he had got from Mrs. Norton. Lizzie had gone to bed early.
"Young Lydia," said John, as soon as they were alone, "come here."
When she was perched in her old place on his knee, "Don't you think it's time for you to get back to your own bedroom with its view of the lake?" he asked.
Lydia looked at him dumbly.
"You don't like to sleep in that stuffy bedroom with Lizzie, do you, dear?"