She took no notice of this, unless by quickening her pace, and insensibly withdrawing a little further from his side. They were walking down together to the village, where Lucy had her favourite old women to see after her return home. She had no excuse for refusing her cousin’s escort, and why should she refuse it? He was very nice; there was nothing in him that any lady could object to. He was her own near relative, and their way was the same as far as the village, and she liked him well enough. Why had everybody at the Hall this unexpressed, incipient distrust of Hubert Curtis? Lucy could not tell; and perhaps it was not necessary to have such a feeling to explain her little proud movement aside, her slight withdrawal when he spoke in this tone of subdued tenderness. She did not choose that her cousin should be tender to her, and therefore it was quite natural that she should withdraw.
“I suppose you are right,” she said. “Of course, you are a great deal younger than papa; but it gives one a shock to think what may happen when he—I prefer, for my part, not to think of it. Yes,” Lucy continued, with that sudden inconsistency which she had from her mother; “of course, Arthur and his wife will be of importance to you when we are all away from the Hall; and you have a right to hear all I can tell you. Well, Cousin Bertie—”
“May I not protest against this?” he said. “You are not kind to me, Lucy. What an air of selfish, interested, business-like curiosity you put upon the simple sentiment I expressed!”
At this Lucy blushed once more; for to be thought capable of imputing base motives, was not that as bad as to be base one’s self?
“I beg your pardon,” she said; “perhaps I am twisted a little—the wrong way. How can one help that, when everything has gone so contrary? Well, I will tell you all I know, and you must forgive me if I was disagreeable.”
“You are never disagreeable,” he said, in again that objectionable tone, and with a world of objectionable meaning, “to me.”
Lucy veered a little further off from him, as if she had been forced by the wind, but went on taking no notice of the interruption.
“I saw her, for a moment. Yes, I thought you would be surprised. She is very handsome; and I was prejudiced—of course I was prejudiced. I thought, as women, I suppose, always do, that she looked bold, not as a girl should. I have no doubt,” said Lucy, with a sigh, “that she thought the same of me.”
“No one could think that of you.”
“Oh, perhaps not that, but something equally disagreeable. She thought most probably that I was proud. She did not speak to me. I said I hoped she would be happy,” said Lucy, dropping her voice, “and I hope I meant it, but I am not quite sure. Of course, I wish Arthur to be happy, and he cannot be happy unless his wife is. So that, at least, makes my wish quite sincere.”