“I am happy to tell you,” answered he, “that all your forebodings have proved groundless; and I’m sure, Lucy, that, giddy and careless as you may pretend to be, it will give you satisfaction to know that I perfectly approve of your conduct.”
Lucy, a little puzzled by this gratifying intimation, received it in silence, making a low curtsey in reply, as in duty bound.
“Yes, Lucy,” continued he, “it has made you dearer than ever to me.”
“Will you allow me to ask you one question, Mr Charles Malone?” demanded the puzzled lady, “and pray be intelligible if possible in your reply. Did you put my letter in the penny-post?”
“No.”
“I thought as much—and pray what have you done with it?”
“You will understand all my allusions,” replied Charley tenderly, “when I tell you I delivered it myself into the hands of this Mr Fitzgerald.”
“What! but he didn’t know who you were, did he?” exclaimed she, in utter dismay.
“I rather think he guessed,” was the sly reply: “and from the manner in which he spoke of you, I was able to guess something too; but you needn’t blush now; we’ll say no more about it. Such things will occur in the best regulated families.”
“Spoke of me!” said Lucy, in a low and frightened tone; “and had you the assurance to mention my name?”