“Yes, I have.”
“You quiet slyboots! You have never walked there and back?”
“I don’t feel very tired. I have been resting with mamma for half an hour.”
“And he’s safe—Averil?” eagerly continued Charlotte.
“Quite safe. Remember his long friendship with Thomas Godolphin.”
“Oh, my dear, men forget friendship when their pockets are in question,” was the light remark of Charlotte. “You are sure, though, Averil’s not deceiving you? I don’t much think he is one to do a dirty trick of that sort, but I have lived long enough to learn that you must prove a man before you trust him.”
“Lord Averil is not deceiving me,” quietly answered Maria. “He has given me a message for my husband.”
“Then there’s no necessity for my going to him,” said Charlotte. “Let me drive you home, Mrs. George Godolphin. I am sure you are fatigued. I never saw any one change countenance as you do. A few minutes ago you looked vulgarly hot, and now you are pale enough for the grave. Step in. James, you must change to the back seat.”
Step into that formidably high thing, and sit by Mrs. Charlotte Pain’s side, and dash through Prior’s Ash! Maria wondered whether the gossips of Prior’s Ash—who, as it seemed, had made so free with gay George’s name—or Margery, would stare the most. She declined the invitation.
“You are afraid,” cried Charlotte. “Well, it’s a great misfortune, these timid temperaments: but I suppose they can’t be cured. Kate Verrall’s another coward: but she’s not as bad as you. Toss me my parasol, James.”