There was a pause, but after a few moments there stole through the silence a sweetly insinuating voice: "Then, Lydia—"
Lydia half turned away and put up her left shoulder.
"Then, Lydia, I suppose you wouldn't—"
"You'd better keep on supposing I wouldn't."
"Can't suppose such cruelty for more than a moment—can't really. No, listen to me"—this with a change of voice: "I must go out this evening. Upon my soul, it's important. I'm in a fix, Lydia. I've not breathed a word to any one else, and wouldn't for worlds, but you'll not let it out, I know. If I'm lucky enough to get out of the scrape to-night, I'll never get into it again, I can tell you."
"You will," said Lydia.
"I swear I won't. And if not—"
"Well? if not?"
"Why, I must try another plan to get free. I sha'n't like it, but I must. But there'll be a row, and I shall have to go away. I'd a good deal rather not."
"What sort of plan?" she asked curiously.