David, with the tear in his own eye, clasped her in his arms, and kissed her and coaxed her and begged her again and again to forgive him. This she did internally at the first word; but externally no; pouted and sobbed till she had exacted her full tribute, then cleared up with sudden alacrity and inquired his plans. “I am going to call at Font Abbey, and find out whether I have offended her.” Eve demurred, “That would never do. You would betray yourself and there would be an end of you. How good I am not to let you go. No, I'll call there. I shall quietly find out whether it is her doing that we have not been invited so long, or whose it is. You stay where you are. I won't be a minute.” When the minute was thirty-five, David came under her window and called her. She popped her head out: “Well?” “What are you doing?” “Putting on my bonnet.” “Why, you have been an hour.” “You wouldn't have me go there a fright, would you?” At last she came down and started for Font Abbey, and David was left to count the minutes till her return. He paced the gravel sailor-wise, taking six steps and then turning, instead of going in each direction as far as he could. He longed and feared his sister's return. One hour--two hours elapsed; still he walked a supposed deck on the little lawn--six steps and then turn. At last he saw her coming in the distance; he ran to meet her; but when he came up with her he did not speak, but looked wistfully in her face, and tried hard to read it and his fate. “Now, David, don't make a fool of yourself, or I won't tell you.” “No, no. I'll be calm, I will--be--calm.” “Well, then, for one thing, she is to drink tea with us this evening.” “She? Who? What? Where? Oh!” “Here.” CHAPTER V. MR. FOUNTAIN sat at breakfast opposite his niece with a twinkle set in his eye like a cherry-clack in a tree, relishing beforehand her smiles, and blushes, and gratitude to him for having hooked and played his friend, so that now she had but to land him. “I'll just finish this delicious cup of coffee,” thought he, “and then I'll tell you, my lady.” While he was slowly sipping said cup, Lucy looked up and said graciously to him, “How silly Mr. Talboys was last night--was he not, dear?” “Talboys? silly? what? do you know? Why, what on earth do you mean?” “Silly is a harsh word--injudicious, then--praising me _a tort et a travers,_ and was downright ill-bred--was discourteous to another of our guests, Mr. Dodd.” “Confound Mr. Dodd! I wish I had never invited him.” “So do I. If you remember, I dissuaded you.” “I do remember now. What! you don't like him, either?”