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 embarrassment, 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?”