“On Friday last,” said she, pondering. “Yes, you are right. I do remember that Friday;” and she drew up the sleeve of her dress, and looked at a dark-blue mark upon the fair white skin of her arm; but so hastily was the action done that Lucy did not remark it. “It was on Friday morning. It was on the forenoon of Friday, was it not?” “Yes. The clock struck one, I remember, as I got back to the house.” “Tell me, Lucy,” said she in a caressing tone, as she drew her arm round the girl's waist,--“tell me, darling, how did Colonel Sewell look after that interview? Did he seem angry or irritated? I'll tell you why I ask this some other time,--but I want to know if he seemed vexed or chagrined by meeting this man.” “I did not see him after; he went away almost immediately after Sir Brook. I heard his voice talking with grandpapa in the garden, but I went to my room, and we did not meet.” “As they spoke in the garden, were their voices raised? Did they talk like men excited or in warmth?” “Yes. Their tone and manner were what you say,--so much so that I went away, not to overhear them. Grandpapa, I know, was angry at something; and when we met at luncheon, he barely spoke to me.” “And what conclusion did you draw from all this?” “None! There was nothing to induce me to dwell on the circumstance; besides,” added she, with some irritation, “I am not given to reason upon the traits of people's manner, or their tone in speaking.” “Nor perhaps accustomed to inquire, when your grandfather is vexed, what it is that has irritated him.” “Certainly not. It is a liberty I should not dare to take.” “Well, darling,” said she, with a saucy laugh, “he is more fortunate in having _you_ for a granddaughter than me. I 'm afraid I should have less discretion,--at all events, less dread.” “Don't be so sure of that,” said Lucy, quietly. “Grandpapa is no common person. It is not his temper but his talent that one is loath to encounter.” “I do not suspect that either would terrify me greatly. As the soldiers say, Lucy, I have been under fire pretty often, and I don't mind it now. Do you know, child, that we have got into a most irritable tone with each other? Each of us is saying something that provokes a sharp reply, and we are actually sparring without knowing it.” “I certainly did not know it,” said Lucy, taking her hand within both her own, “and I ask pardon if I have said anything to hurt you.” Leaving her hand to Lucy unconsciously, and not heeding one word of what she had said, Mrs. Sewell sat with her eyes fixed on the floor deep in thought. “I 'm sure, Lucy,” said she at last, “I don't know why I asked you all those questions awhile ago. That man--Sir Brook, I mean--is nothing to me; he ought to be, but he is not. My father and he were friends; that is, my father thought he was his friend, and left him the guardianship of me on his deathbed.” “Your guardian,--Sir Brook your guardian?” cried Lucy, with intense eagerness.