"Because if he does, he has told lies enough: that's all."
("And he isn't a miracle of honor if he doesn't," said Percival.)
"But that's quite likely," Lydia went on, unheeding. "I knew all the time that he didn't mean any good. He thought I believed him, but I didn't—not more than half, anyhow. But when he went away I didn't guess it was for this."
"You knew he was going?" Thorne said.
Lydia half smiled, in conscious superiority.
"You don't seem to have served yourself particularly well by keeping his secrets. You are deceived at last, like the rest."
"Well, if I haven't served myself I've served him," said Lydia. "And I don't know but what I am glad of it. He wasn't as stuck-up and proud as some people. One likes to be looked at and spoken to as if one wasn't dirt under people's feet. And, after all, I don't see that there's any harm done." There were red rims to Lydia's eyes, telling of tears which must surely have been too persistent to pass for tears of joy at the tidings of Bertie's elopement. "I suppose a marriage like that is all right?" she asked with a quick glance.
"Of course—no doubt of it," said Percival very shortly. He had pitied her a moment earlier.
"Ah! I supposed so. But things ain't always all right when people run away. And the money's all right too, is it?"