"Oh, no, my dear, you're not going to stay. I've come to carry you off the very minute we've finished tea. Sophia should have known better than to bring you here."
"Poor little Sophie. If she can stand it, I might."
"That doesn't follow at all. And if you can stand it, your relations can't. So make up your mind that you're going back with me."
"It's extremely kind of you; but I should hurt Sophie's feelings terribly if I went. Why should I go?"
"Because it isn't a fit place for you to be in. To begin with, I don't suppose they feed you properly."
"You can't say I look the worse for it."
No, certainly she couldn't; for Lucia looked better than she had done for many months. In the fine air of Hampstead she had been white and languid and depressed; here in Bloomsbury she had a faint colour, and in spite of her fatigue, looked almost vigorous. What was more, her face bore out her own account of herself. She had said she was perfectly happy, and she looked it.
A horrible idea occurred to Edith. But she did not mean to speak of Rickman till she had got Lucia safe at Hampstead.
"Besides," said Lucia simply, "I'm staying for the best of all possible reasons; because I want to."
"Well, if it's pleasant for you, you forget that it's anything but pleasant for Horace and me. Horace—if you care what he thinks—would be exceedingly annoyed if he knew about it."