Mrs. Costello leaned a little more forward, and touched her daughter's arm.
"I must speak to you about this, Lucia," she said. "I do not want to be harsh, but you ought to know what you have done. And, good heavens! for what? A stranger, a mere coxcomb comes in your way, and you listen to his fine words, and straight begin to be able to see nothing but him, though the most faithful, generous heart a girl ever had offered to her is in your very hand! I was bad enough—but I had no such love as Maurice's to leave behind me."
Again Lucia moved, without speaking. As she did so, the ring on her hand flashed.
"What is that on your finger?" Mrs. Costello asked.
"Maurice's ring. He was not so hard on me."
"Hard?" Mrs. Costello was pressing her hand more and more tightly to her side. "Child, it is you that have been hard with your unconscious ways."
But Lucia had found power to speak at last.
"After all," she said obstinately, "I neither see why I should be supposed to have done wrong, nor why anybody else should be spoken of so. It is no harm, and no shame," she went on, raising her head, and showing her burning cheeks, "for a girl to like somebody who cares very much for her; and I think she would be a poor creature if she did not go on caring for him as long as she believed he was true to her."
The little spark of pride died out with the last words, and there was a faint quiver in her voice.