She clung to him. "Well, no. If he did, I suppose I shouldn't have been so angry—by this time."
"That's a very good answer," James allowed. "I'll only make one comment upon it. You cried out upon the cruelty of the attack. Now if it had been—assume it for the moment—our—well, friend, let us say, why would it have been cruel of him? Shameful, flagrant, audacious, impudent, insolent, all that I can understand. But cruel, Lucy?"
Lucy's cheek was upon his shoulder, and she let it stay there, even while she answered. The moment was serious. She must tell him as much as she dared. Certain things seemed out of the question; but something she must tell him.
"You see, James," she said, "I think Mr. Urquhart is fond of me—in fact, I'm sure of it—"
"Has he told you so?"
"Not in so many words—but—"
"But in so many other words, eh? Well, pursue."
"And I told him that I couldn't possibly join the party—on that account."
"Did you tell him it was on that account?"
"No," said Lucy, "I didn't; but he understood that. I know he understood it, because he immediately said that if I would come I shouldn't repent it. And I haven't. He has never made me feel uncomfortable. But just now—when I was expecting him—oh, it seemed to me quite horrible—and I was furious with him."