At last the B's desire to occupy attention brought her to the verge of trouble. Seeing David saying a word to Lucy, she got into the chair, and went gayly off, drawn by the kite, which Arthur, with a mighty struggle, succeeded in hooking to the car for her. Now, the plateau was narrow, and the chair wanted guiding. It was easy to guide it, but Mrs. Bazalgette did not know how; so it sidled in a pertinacious and horrid way toward a long and steepish slope on the left side. She began to scream, Arthur to laugh--the young are cruel, and, I am afraid, though he stood perfectly neutral to all appearance, his heart within nourished black designs. But David came flying up at her screams--just in time. He caught the lady's shoulders as she glided over the brow of the slope, and lifted her by his great strength up out of the chair, which went the next moment bounding and jumping athwart the hill, and soon rolled over and groveled in rather an ugly way.

Mrs. Bazalgette sobbed and cried so prettily on David's shoulder, and had to be petted and soothed by all hands. Inward composure soon returned, though not outward, and in due course histrionics commenced.

First the sprain business. None of you do it better, ladies, whatever you may think. David had to carry her a bit. But she was too wise to be a bore. Next, the heroic business: _would_ be put down, _would_ walk, possible or not; _would_ not be a trouble to her kind friends. Then the martyr smiling through pain. David was very attentive to her; for while he was carrying her in his arms she had won his affection, all he could spare from Lucy. Which of you can tell all the consequences if you go and carry a pretty woman, with her little insinuating mouth close to your ears?

Lucy and Arthur walked behind. Arthur sighed. Lucy was _reveuse._ Arthur broke silence first. "Lucy!"

"Yes, dear."

"When is she going?"

"Arthur, for shame! I won't tell you. To-morrow."

"Lucy," said Arthur, with a depth of feeling, "she spoils everything!!!"

Next morning ---- _come back?_ What for? _I will have the goodness to tell you what she said in his ear?_ Why, nothing.

_You are a female reader?_ Oh! that alters the case. To attempt to deceive you would be cowardly, immoral; it would fail. She sighed, "My preserver!" at which David had much ado not to laugh in her face.

Then she murmured still more softly, "You must come and see me at my home before you sail--will you not? I insist" (in the tone of a supplicant), "come, promise me."

"That I will--with pleasure," said David, flushing.

"Mind, it is a promise. Put me down. Lucy, come here and make him put me down. I _will not_ be a burden to my friends."

CHAPTER VIII.

THAT same evening, Mrs. Bazalgette, being alone with Lucy in the drawing-room, put her arm round that young lady's waist, and lovingly, not seriously, as a man might have been apt to do, reminded her of her honorable promise--not to be caught in the net of matrimony at Font Abbey. Lucy answered, without embarra.s.sment, that she claimed no merit for keeping her word. No one had had the ill taste to invite her to break it.

"You are either very sly or very blind," replied Mrs. Bazalgette, quietly.

"Aunt!" said Lucy, piteously.

Mrs. Bazalgette, who, by many a subtle question and observation during the last week, had satisfied herself of Lucy's innocence, now set to work and laid Uncle Fountain bare.

"I do not speak in a hurry, Lucy; a hint came round to me a fortnight ago that you had an admirer here, and it turns out to be this Mr.

Talboys."

"Mr. Talboys?"

"Yes. Does that surprise you? Do you think a young gentleman would come to Font Abbey three nights in a week without a motive?"

Lucy reflected.

"It is all over the place that you two are engaged."

Lucy colored, and her eyes flashed with something very like anger, but she held her peace.

"Ask Jane else."

"What! take my servant into my confidence?"

"Oh, there is a way of setting that sort of people chattering without seeming to take any notice. To tell the truth, I have done it for you.

It is all over the village, and all over the house."

"The proper person to ask must have been Uncle Fountain himself."

"As if he would have told me the truth."

"He is a gentleman, aunt, and would not have uttered a falsehood."

"Doctrine of chivalry! He would have uttered half a dozen in one minute. Besides, why should I question a person I can read without.

Your uncle, with his babyish cunning that everybody sees through, has given me the only proof I wanted. He has not had Mr. Talboys here once since I came."

"Cunning little aunt! Mr. Talboys happens not to be at home; uncle told me so himself."

"Simple little niece, uncle told you a fib; Mr. Talboys is at home.

And observe! until I came to Font Abbey, he was here three times a week. You admit that. I come; your uncle knows I am not so un.o.bservant as you, and Mr. Talboys is kept out of sight."

"The proof that my uncle has deceived me," said Lucy, coldly, and with lofty incredulity.

"Read that note from Miss Dodd!"

"What! you in correspondence with Miss Dodd?"

"That is to say, she has thrust herself into correspondence with me--just like her a.s.surance."

The letter ran thus:

"DEAR MADAM--My brother requests me to say that, in compliance with your request, he called at the lodge of Talboys Park, and the people informed him Mr. Talboys had not left Talboys Park at all since Easter. I remain yours, etc."

Lucy was dumfounded.

"I suspected something, Lucy, so I asked Mr. Dodd to inquire."

"It was a singular commission to send him on."

"Oh, he takes long walks--cruises, he calls them--and he is so good-natured. Well, what do you think of your uncle's veracity now?"

Lucy was troubled and distressed, but she mastered her countenance: "I think he has sacrificed it for once to his affection for me. I fear you are right; my eyes are opened to many circ.u.mstances. But do--oh, pray do!--see his goodness in all this."

"The goodness of a story-teller."

"He admires Mr. Talboys--he reveres him. No doubt he wished to secure his poor niece what he thinks a great match, and now you a.s.sign ill motives to him. Yes, I confess he has deviated from truth. Cruel!

cruel! what can you give me in exchange if you rob me of my esteem for those I love!"