“It is quite delightful,” said Lydia, with energy, “to have a brother—you know, a real brother—a little like one’s self: not elderly, and worldly, and Westmoreland, like Will and Tom.”
“I thought you were so fond of Westmoreland,” said Lionel.
“Ah! so I am; but not that kind. Now Harry is—you can’t think what Harry is——”
“I know what you want me to think him—the most disgusting interloper, the worst nuisance in the world. It is quite unaccountable of him to go and leave you alone here. Doesn’t he know how a lady should be taken care of? In a common steamboat when there are all sorts of people——”
“I never knew you were so ill-natured before,” said Lydia in a plaintive tone. “Poor Harry! he took me to the cabin-door; he thinks I am there now. I came up afterwards—well—because it is hot there, because it is such a lovely night, because the sea is so beautiful—look at that light on it—and, then, because I thought you would perhaps think it civil to come and say good night.”
“Ah, Liddy!” he cried, seizing her hand and drawing it through his arm, “come and walk about a little. I thought I was never to have a chance of saying a word to you to-night. I have been swearing at everything and everybody.”
“I thought so,” said Liddy, with a little laugh, “from the expression of your face.”
“And you laughed—at my torture——”
“Would you have had me cry? What could I do? I could not take you from Sir John; and then you never looked as if you wanted to have anything to say to us. Well,” said Lydia, stopping short, “now all the purposes of civility are fulfilled, and we can say good night.”
But they had not said good night full two hours after, when the short voyage was almost over, and the lights of Genoa stretching round the whole breadth of the lovely bay in an ineffectual struggle with the dawn, began to rise upon their dazzled eyes. Then after a little struggle Lydia made her escape. “What will Lady Brotherton think? It must be three o’clock in the morning, and how can I face her? She will see it in my eyes, and she will not like it. Oh! why didn’t we think of that sooner? They will not like it, neither she nor Sir John; for I am nobody, Lionel.”