"Why don't you like him?" repeated Lady Verner.
"I don't know," whispered Lucy, standing before Lady Verner like a culprit, her eyes cast down, and her eyelashes resting on her hot crimsoned face.
"Do you both mean to make yourselves into old maids, you and Decima?" reiterated the angry Lady Verner. "A pretty pair of you I shall have on my hands! I never was so annoyed in all my life."
Lucy burst into tears. "I wish I could go to papa in India!" she said.
"Do you know what you have rejected?" asked Lady Verner. "You would have been a peeress of England. His father will not live for ever."
"But I should not care to be a peeress," sobbed Lucy. "And I don't like him."
"Mamma, please do not say any more," pleaded Decima. "Lucy is not to blame. If she does not like Lord Garle she could not accept him."
"Of course she is not to blame—according to you, Miss Verner! You were not to blame, were you, when you rejected—some one we knew of? Not the least doubt that you will take her part! Young Bitterworth wished to have proposed to you; you sent him away—as you send all—and refuse to tell me your motive! Very dutiful you are, Decima!"
Decima turned away her pale face. She began to think Lucy would do better without her advocacy than with it.
"I cannot allow it to end thus," resumed Lady Verner to Lucy. "You must reconsider your determination and recall Lord Garle."