Lucia stayed long enough to see that the mere presence of Maurice inspired her mother with fresh courage; then she went back to her packing, leaving the door ajar that she might hear their voices. She went on with her work in a strange tumult and confusion. Not a word beyond the first greetings had passed between Maurice and herself, but she could not help feeling as if their positions were somehow changed—and not for the worse.
There had been no words; but just for one second Maurice had held her hand and looked at her very earnestly; whereupon she had felt her cheeks grow very hot, and her eyes go down to the ground as if she were making some confession.
After that he released her, and she went about her occupations. She began to wonder now whether she would have to tell him how sorry she was, or whether enough had been said; and to incline to the last opinion.
Meanwhile she went on busily. In about half an hour she heard Maurice go out, and then Mrs. Costello came to her.
"He is gone to make inquiries," she said; "you know there is a boat to-night, but then we may not be able to get berths."
"To-night, mamma, for England?"
Mrs. Costello looked a little displeased at Lucia's surprise, "To be sure," she said; "why, my dear child, you yourself thought England would be the best place."
"I did think so certainly, but I did not know I had said it."
"Well, can we be ready?"
"I can finish packing in an hour, but there is Madame Everaert to arrange with."