"Yes. Ailing, that is. Your brother came over to take the duty for the day. Will you call at the Star to see the Squire, Lucy? You know how pleased he would be." "N--o," she answered, her manner still more hesitating; and she seemed to be debating some matter mentally. "I--I would have come after dark, had Mrs. Todhetley been there. At least I think I would--I don't know." "You can come all the same, Lucy." "But no--that would not have done," she went on to herself, in a half-whisper. "I might have been seen. It would never have done to risk it. The truth is, Johnny, I ought to see Mrs. Todhetley on a matter of business. Though even if she were here, I do not know that I might dare to see her. It is--not exactly my own business--and--and mischief might come of it." "Is it anything I can say to her for you?" "I--think--you might," she returned slowly, pausing, as before, between her words. "I know you are to be trusted, Johnny." "That I am. I wouldn't forget a single item of the message." "I did not mean in that way. I shall have to entrust to you a private matter--a disagreeable secret. It is a long time that I have wanted to tell some of you; ever since last winter: and yet, now that the opportunity has come that I may do it, I scarcely dare. The Squire is hasty and impulsive, his son is proud; but I think I may confide in you, Johnny." "Only try me, Lucy." "Well, I will. _I will._ I know you are true as steel. Not this morning, for I cannot stop--and I am not prepared. Let me see: where shall we meet again? No, no, Johnny, I cannot venture to the hotel: it is of no use to suggest that." "Shall I come to your lodgings?" She just shook her head by way of dissent, and remained in silent thought. I could not imagine what it was she had to tell me that required all this preparation; but it came into my mind to be glad that I had chanced to go that morning to Harry Parker's. "Suppose you meet me in Sansome Walk this afternoon, Johnny Ludlow? Say at"--considering--"yes, at four o'clock. That will be a safe hour, for they will be on the racecourse and out of the way. People will, I mean," she added hastily: but somehow I did not think she had meant people. "Can you come?" "I will manage it." "And, if you don't meet me at that time--it is just possible that I may be prevented coming out--I will be there at eight o'clock this evening instead," she continued. "That I know I can do." "Very well. I'll be sure to be there." Hardly waiting another minute to say good-morning, she went swiftly on. I began wondering what excuse I could make for leaving the Squire's carriage in the midst of the sport, and whether he would let me leave it. But the way for that was paved without any effort of mine. At the early lunch, the Squire, in the openness of his heart, offered a seat in the phaeton to some old acquaintance from Martley. Which of course would involve Tod's sitting behind with me, and Giles's being left out altogether.