"Well?"
"Well—what, Miss Bryant?"
"What does he say?" Lydia demanded; and when Thorne arched his brows, "Oh, you needn't look as if you thought it wasn't my business. I've a right to ask after him, at any rate, for old acquaintance' sake."
"I'm sorry to hear you take so much interest in him," he rejoined.
"Why? You may keep your sorrow for your own affairs: I'll manage mine. I can take very good care of myself, I assure you, and I won't trouble you to be sorry for me," said Lydia shortly. I do not think she had ever spoken to a young man before and been unconscious that it was a young man to whom she spoke. But she was utterly heedless of Percival as she questioned him, and he perceived it, and preferred this angry mood. "Can't you tell me anything about him?" said the girl. "Is he well—happy?"
"He writes in the best of spirits."
Lydia advanced a step or two: "And is it all true what they are saying? He has married this young lady?"
"Yes, he has married her."
"And do you suppose he cares for her?" said Lydia slowly.
Thome's brows went up again: "Really, Miss Bryant—"