"Well!" Mrs. Costello began again, "it is no use now to go on talking of the past. The question is rather whether anything can be done for the future. What do you say?"
"What can I say, mamma? What can I do?"
"I don't know. Maurice used to tell me of his plans, but he is not likely to do that now. I would write and ask him to come over, but it is more than doubtful whether he would come."
"He promised that if ever I wanted him he would come," Lucia said, hesitating.
"If you were in need of him I am sure he would, but it would be a kind of impertinence to send for him on that plea when it was not really for that."
"But it is. Mamma, don't be angry with me again! Don't be disgusted with me; but I want, so badly, to see him and tell him I behaved wrongly. I was so cross, so ungrateful, so horrid, mamma, that it was enough to make him think all girls bad. I should like to tell him how sorry I am; I feel as if I should never be happy till I did."
When, after this outbreak, Lucia's face went down upon her hands, Mrs. Costello could not resist a little self-gratulatory smile. 'All may come right yet,' she thought to herself, 'if that wilful boy will only come over.'
"I think you are right," she said aloud. "Possibly he may come over, and then you will have an opportunity of speaking to him, perhaps."
"Yes," Lucia said, very slowly, thinking of her note, and of the comfort it would have been if she could but have sent it. "Oh, mamma, if we were but in England!"
"Useless wishes, dear. Give me your advice about writing to Mr. Leigh."