"Why did not you speak, then?" asked Amabel, rather pettishly, for she had been a little scared as well as my lady.
"It was not my place," I answered, with a demure curtsy. "I must practise upon keeping my place, you know. But, Amabel—mistress, I mean—"
Amabel flew at me and shook me.
"Let me ever hear you say that again!" said she, kissing me between the shakes. "How dare you? But what were you going to say?"
"How can I tell, you have shaken it all out of me," I returned, laughing. "Oh, I know. Amabel, don't you know when we first looked at the picture of the wolf-lady, we wondered who it was like?"
"Yes; why?"
"It is like Lady Leighton. Don't you see she has the same blue-green eyes and thin lips, and the same look of watchfulness? Perhaps, after all, that was her relation calling for her."
"Don't say such horrid things," answered Amabel, shuddering. "I can see the likeness you speak of, however. But, Lucy, you will never be able to stay here. It is not right that you, a young lady of fortune and family, should be exposed to such indignities. You must go to Aunt Deborah. It would bit too selfish in me to keep you."
"Don't you see that is exactly what she wants?" I asked. "It does not suit her policy just now to dismiss me altogether. It would make a talk, and perhaps give rise to awkward enquiries. If she can make me go of my own motion, she will, but I don't think she will accomplish that. I will leave when I am forced—not before. Don't you remember Mrs. Thorpe's saying once that when it came to a contest between will and won't, won't had the advantage, because won't had only to stand still?"
"How happy we were in those days, and how far, far away they seem!" observed Amabel, sighing. "Mother Superior might well say that the world was a hard place."