“You have quarreled more deeply than I know of.”
Elizabeth, wishing to shield the man she believed to be her father from any charge of unnatural dislike, said “Yes.”
“Then where you are is, of all places, the one he will avoid?”
Elizabeth nodded sadly.
Lucetta looked blank, twitched up her lovely eyebrows and lip, and burst into hysterical sobs. Here was a disaster—her ingenious scheme completely stultified.
“O, my dear Miss Templeman—what’s the matter?” cried her companion.
“I like your company much!” said Lucetta, as soon as she could speak.
“Yes, yes—and so do I yours!” Elizabeth chimed in soothingly.
“But—but—” She could not finish the sentence, which was, naturally, that if Henchard had such a rooted dislike for the girl as now seemed to be the case, Elizabeth-Jane would have to be got rid of—a disagreeable necessity.
A provisional resource suggested itself. “Miss Henchard—will you go on an errand for me as soon as breakfast is over?—Ah, that’s very good of you. Will you go and order—” Here she enumerated several commissions at sundry shops, which would occupy Elizabeth’s time for the next hour or two, at least.