“I don’t pretend to call it breakfast, it’s more like what your ladyship would call a lunch; but the young folks must have something substantial before they start on their journey—and we’ll take it so friendly, and such an honour. It is just what we were wanting, and not daring to hope for, my lady,” said Mrs. Bates, beaming. “Arthur, you can tell her ladyship—”
“Why, Davies, you!” cried Arthur, sharply, stung by sudden rage. “What are you doing here?”
“Davies! Ain’t she my lady after all?” cried Mrs. Bates.
Lucy had been almost crouching in a corner of the pew; but when she saw her brother’s troubled and worn face, she could not restrain herself.
“Oh, Arthur, how could you think mamma would come?” she said. “How could she come after the letter you sent her? But we could not let it be without one near you that loved you; and I am here,” said Lucy, coming forward, putting back her veil, the tears rushing to her eyes.
Arthur was overcome by the sight of her, by the voice, by the incident altogether. He was so much excited and overcome that he could have cried too. He took his sister’s outstretched hands, and kissed her cheek.
“Lucy, I will never forget this. Come and speak to Nancy, and then they can take you away.”
Here Durant came forward, with a feeling that he would be condemned on all sides.
“I don’t think Lady Curtis meant that your sister should see anyone,” he said.
“Lucy, I suppose you are old enough to choose for yourself—is he the keeper of your conscience?” cried Arthur.