"Oh, it was worse than that," she answered frankly: "it was one of a set. But I don't see why one can't be just as happy without a complete set of everything."
"There I agree with you," he replied. "I certainly can't say that my happiness is bound up with crockery of any kind. And, do you know, Lottie, I'm rather glad it was one of a set. Otherwise, your mother might have known that there was something magical about it, but one of a set is prosaic—isn't it? Suppose it had been a case of—
If this glass doth fall,
Farewell then, O Luck of Edenhall!"
"Well, the luck would have been in uncommonly little bits," she replied. "I smashed it on a stone step, and they were so cross that I was crosser, so I said I would come out for a walk."
"And do you feel any better?" he asked in an anxious voice.
"Yes, thank you. Being in the open air has done me good."
"Then may I go with you? Or will nothing short of solitude effect a complete cure?"
"You may come," she said gravely. "That is, if you are not afraid of the remains of my ill-temper."
"No, I'm not afraid. I don't make light of your anger, but I believe I'm naturally very brave. Where are we going?"
She hesitated a moment, then looked up at him: "Percival, isn't this the way to the wishing-well? Ever since we came to Fordborough, three months ago, I've wanted to go there. Do you know where it is?"