"I don't know about that. He was really in love with her in his fashion—which is not yours, or mine."
"And she?"
"Must have refused him, for he went away in a kind of amazed ruefulness, which even you would have pitied."
Maurice looked the reverse of pitiful for a moment.
"But that is all supposition," he said.
"Granted. But a supposition founded on pretty close observation. Only mind, I do not say Lucia might not be a little sorry herself. You were away, and a girl does not lose a handsome fellow like Percy, who has been following her about everywhere as if he were her pet dog, without feeling the loss more or less. At least that is my idea."
"He has soon consoled himself."
"My dear fellow, everybody can't step into possession of £10,000 a year all at once. Most people have to do something for a living, and the only thing Percy could do was to marry."
They said good-night soon after this, and went upstairs, Maurice blessing the Fates which seemed determined to give him all possible hope and encouragement. Only he could not quite understand this idea of Mr. Bellairs'. He could imagine anybody, even Percy, being so far carried away by Lucia's beauty as to forget prudence for the moment; but he could not help but feel that it was improbable that Percy would have gone so far as to propose to Lucia unless he were sure she would say yes. Why, then, had she not said yes?
Next morning the last farewells had to be said—the last look taken at the old home. Night found father and son far on their way to New York, and Maurice's eagerness all renewed by this fresh start upon his quest.