She lost no time in delivering her soul, lest Sophia should pop in upon them.
"Lu-chee-a," she said with emphasis, "I think you ought to have told me."
"Told you what?"
"Why, that you hadn't anywhere to go to, instead of coming here."
"But I didn't come here because I hadn't anywhere to go to. I came because I wanted to see something of Sophie after all these years."
"You could have seen Sophie at Hampstead. I would have asked her to stay with you if I'd known you wanted her."
"That would have been very nice of you. But I'm afraid she wouldn't have come. You see she can't leave her work at the Museum—ever, poor thing."
"Oh. Then you don't see so much of Sophie after all?"
"Not as much as I should like. But I must be somewhere; and I'm perfectly happy here."
As she rose to make tea for Edith (at the poet's table, and with the poet's brass kettle), she looked, to Edith's critical eyes, most suspiciously at home. Edith's eyes, alert for literature, roamed over the bookcases before they settled on the tea-pot (the poet's tea-pot); but it was the tea-pot that brought her to her point. Did Lucia mix with the other boarders after all?