Mrs. Stone looked round the room, with such disdain of the shop upholstery as was natural to a woman who possessed a parlor furnished with Chippendales. She said, “Ah, I see they have been doing something here;” then added, “Lucy, you must not trifle with me; it is not that. But,” she said, “your hat is on the table; you were going out? it is a sweet evening, and we can talk just as well on the common. Come, and we will discuss the whole matter out of doors.”
Lucy was grateful to be released, for the night was warm, and Jane, Mrs. Ford’s maid, had come up with a taper in her hand, and was threatening to light the gas. Mrs. Ford was determined that Lucy should want for nothing, and no consideration of time or season was permitted to interfere with the proper hours for doing everything in this well-regulated house. Therefore, though it was somewhat late for Jock, Lucy put on her hat gratefully, and suffered her hand to be drawn through the arm of her considerate friend, and drew a long and grateful breath as she got out upon the breezy sweep of the common, which even in the twilight showed a faint flush of the heather. “How sweet it is! this is the one thing which is unchanged,” she said.
“Do you find the place changed, Lucy?”
“Perhaps it is me, Mrs. Stone.”
“You should say I, my love. Yes, no doubt it is you, Lucy. It could not be otherwise; you have been in so different a sphere, and how could you help feeling it? I think I can understand you. Lady Randolph is—well, I don’t know what she is. I confess that I have a little prejudice against her.”
“Indeed, you should not have any prejudice,” said Lucy earnestly; “she is so good and so kind—oh, far too good and kind for anything I deserve.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Stone with a smile. “I understand; a woman with a great deal of tact, Lucy, who knows what is best for you, and takes her measures accordingly; oh, yes, I am quite sure Lady Randolph is highly refined, and a thorough lady, and would do nothing that was unbecoming, whereas our good Mrs. Ford is just— Mrs. Ford, and a very good woman. I think it would have been better, Lucy—we have all our little vanities—if your excellent father had sent you to me.”
“Yes,” said Lucy with a sigh; but there was no enthusiasm in the assent. Mrs. Stone was slightly disappointed. She gave the girl’s arm a soft pressure.
“You must let us help you to get through this second beginning: things will never be so bad again. You will get used to the alteration, and your interests will spring up. What are you doing about little Jock, my dear?”
“Nothing,” said Lucy; “he is still so little, and I have no one else. Do you think, really, I ought to send him, such a little fellow, away from me to some real school? He was at Mrs. Russell’s, but that was not like a real school, and I went to see him whenever I liked.”