“Yes; with more power than the law, I believe, would accord to any guardian.” She paused and seemed lost in thought for some seconds, and then went on: “Colonel Sewell and he never liked each other. Sir Brook took little trouble to be liked by him; perhaps Dudley was as careless on his side. What a tiresome vein I have got in! How should _you_ care for all this?” “But I do care--I care for all that concerns you.” “I take it, if you were to hear Sir Brook's account, we should not make a more brilliant figure than himself. He 'd tell you about our mode of life, and high play, and the rest of it; but, child, every one plays high in India, every one does scores of things there they would n't do at home, partly because the _ennui_ of life tempts to anything,--anything that would relieve it; and then all are tolerant because all are equally--I was going to say wicked; but I don't mean wickedness,--I mean bored to that degree that there is no stimulant left without a breach of the decalogue.” “I think that might be called wickedness,” said Lucy, dryly. “Call it what you like, only take my word for it you 'd do the selfsame things if you lived there. I was pretty much what you are now when I left England; and if any naughty creature like myself were to talk, as I am doing to you now, and make confession of all her misdeeds and misfortunes, I'm certain I'd have known how to bridle up and draw away my hand, and retire to a far end of the sofa, and look unutterable pruderies, just as you do this moment.” “Without ever suspecting it, certainly,” said Lucy laughing. “Tear up that odious drawing, dear Lucy,” said she, rising and walking the room with impatience. “Tear it up; or, if you won't do that, let me write a line under it--one line, I ask for no more--so that people may know at whom they are looking.” “I will do neither; nor will I sit here to listen to one word against him.” “Which means, child, that your knowledge of life is so-much greater than mine, you can trust implicitly to your own judgment. I can admire your courage, certainly, though I am not captivated by your prudence.” “It is because I have so little faith in my own judgment that I am unwilling to lose the friend who can guide me.” “Perhaps it would be unsafe if I were to ask you to choose between _him_ and me,” said Mrs. Sewell, very slowly, and with her eyes fully bent on Lucy. “I hope you will not.” “With such a warning I certainly shall not do so. Who-could have believed it was so late?” said she, hastily looking at her watch; “What a seductive creature you must be, child, to slip over one's whole morning without knowing it,--two o'clock already. You lunch about this time?” “Yes, punctually at two.” “Are you sufficiently lady of the house to invite me, Lucy?” “I am sure _you_ need no invitation here; you are one of us.”