“No!”
Mrs. Erwin mused a while before she said, “Yes, it was cruel indeed, poor child, and it was cowardly, too.”
“Cowardly?” Lydia lifted her face, and flashed a glance of tearful fire at her aunt. “He is the bravest man in the world! And the most generous and high-minded! He jumped into the sea after that wicked Mr. Hicks, and saved his life, when he disliked him worse than anything!”
“Who was Mr. Hicks?”
“He was the one that stopped at Messina. He was the one that got some brandy at Gibraltar, and behaved so dreadfully, and wanted to fight him.”
“Whom?”
“This one. The one who gave me the book. And don't you see that his being so good makes it all the worse? Yes; and he pretended to be glad when I told him I thought he was good,—he got me to say it!” She had her face down again in her handkerchief. “And I suppose you think it was horrible, too, for me to take his arm, and talk and walk with him whenever he asked me!”
“No, not for you, Lydia,” said her aunt, gently. “And don't you think now,” she asked after a pause, “that he cared for you?”
“Oh, I did think so,—I did believe it; but now, now—”
“Now, what?”