“She is well,” he replied. “She's beside herself to see you.”
“Tell her I am coming!” said she. “I would rather see Mammy Lucy than the Brooklyn Bridge!”
She led him to a seat, placed herself opposite him, devouring him with her eyes. “It makes me seem like a girl again to see you,” she said.
“Do you count yourself aged?” asked Montague, laughing.
“Oh, I feel old,” said Lucy, with a sudden look of fear,—“you have no idea, Allan. But I don't want anybody to know about it!” And then she cried, eagerly, “Do you remember the swing in the orchard? And do you remember the pool where the big alligator lived? And the persimmons? And Old Joe?”
Allan Montague remembered all these things; in the course of the half hour that followed he remembered pretty nearly all the exciting adventures which he and Oliver and Lucy had had since Lucy was old enough to walk. And he told her the latest news about all their neighbours, and about all the servants whom she remembered. He told her also about his father's death, and how the house had been burned, and how they had sold the plantation and come North.
“And how are you doing, Allan?” she asked.
“I am practising law,” he said. “I'm not making a fortune, but I'm managing to pay my bills. That is more than some other people do in this city.”
“I should imagine it,” said Lucy. “With all that row of shops on Fifth Avenue! Oh, I know I shall spend all that I own in the first week. And this hotel—why, it's perfectly frightful.”
“Oliver has told you the prices, has he?” said Montague, with a laugh.