'I haven't done so very badly for you, have I?' he said affectionately, as she sat down, taking her two gloved hands in his one.
Lucy vehemently drew them away.
'Oh, if you mean to say,' she cried, her eyes flaming, 'that I had no money, and ought just to be thankful for what I can get, just say it, that's all.'
This time David flushed.
'I think, perhaps, you'd better go and pay your calls,' he said, after a minute; 'we can talk about this letter some other time.'
Lucy sat silent her chest heaving. As soon as ever in these little scenes between them he began to show resentment, she began to give way.
'I didn't mean that,' she said, uncertainly, in a low voice looking ready to cry.
'Well, then, suppose you don't say it,' replied David, after a pause. 'If you'll try and believe it, Lucy, I don't want to go to Lord Driffield's simply and solely because I am sure we should neither of us enjoy it. Lady Driffield is a stuck-up sort of person, who only cares about her own set and relations. We should be patronised, we should find it difficult to be ourselves—there would be no profit for anybody. Lord Driffield would be too busy to look after us; besides, he has more power anywhere than in his own house.'
'No one could patronise you,' said Lucy, firing up again.
'I don't know,' said David, with a smile and a stretch; 'I'm shy—on other people's domains. If they'd come here I should know how to deal with them.'