Then, suddenly, she said something very different from what Lucy expected her to say.
'Oh! if I could get him to go and talk to Father Russell! He's so wonderful with young men.'
Her hand dropped on to her knee; she looked away from Lucy out of the window, her sweet face one longing.
Lucy was startled, and somewhat annoyed. In her disgust with her father and her anxiety to attract David's notice, she had so entirely forgotten his religious delinquencies, that it seemed fussy and intrusive on Dora's part to make so much of them. She instinctively resented, too, what sounded to her like a tone of proprietary interest. It was not Dora that was his friend—it was she!
'I don't see what you have to do with his opinions, Dora,' she said stiffly; 'he isn't rude to you now as he used to be. Young men are always wild a bit at first.'
And she tossed her head with all the worldly wisdom of seventeen.
Dora sighed and was silent. She fell to her work again, while Lucy wandered restlessly about the room. Presently the child stopped short.
'Oh! look here, Dora—'
'Yes.'
'Do come round with me and look at some spring patterns I've got. You might just as well. I know you've been slaving your eyes out, and it's a nice day.'