Lucy heard his voice as she went down-stairs. She was still wondering, not knowing what to make of it, but self-possessed in that calm of youth which nothing disturbs. It was odd that her father should speak so. He had never been so confidential, or talked of himself so much before; altogether it was strange, tempting her half to laugh, half to cry; but that was all. She went down quite composedly to meet Mrs. Stone, who was untying her white Shetland shawl from her head in the hall. Lucy saw that Mrs. Ford was peeping from the parlor door at the visitor, with something like a scowl upon her face. Mrs. Ford distrusted and feared the school-mistress; she thought her capable of marrying old Trevor, notwithstanding his years, and of dissipating Lucy’s fortune, and perhaps raising up rivals to little Jock in his sister’s affections; for Lucy’s affections were all he had to look to, Mrs. Ford was aware, and she thought it was a wicked shame. “I hope you are better than when I saw you last,” Mrs. Stone said, casting a quick glance around her. She knew everything very well by sight in Mr. Trevor’s not very comfortable room, the white silky mats, the blue curtains, the little table groaning under that tea-service, which was easy to see weighed as many ounces as a tea-service could be made to weigh. How much more comfortable, she could not but think, the rich old man might have been made; but then he did not know any better, and Lucy did not know any better; they were used to it; they liked this as well as the best. What a blessing for Lucy that as long as she was young enough to be trained she had fallen into good hands! Mrs. Stone took the big easy-chair which Lucy rolled forward to the other side of the fire, and sat down after that greeting. She saw more clearly than Lucy did the excitement in old Mr. Trevor’s eyes. What was it? An additional glass of wine after dinner, Mrs. Stone thought, a very small matter would be enough to upset an old man sedentary and crippled as old Trevor was. “Never was better in my life,” he said; “that is, I am getting old, and my legs are not good for much, as you know, ma’am; but, thank God, I have plenty to keep my mind occupied and interested, and that is the great thing, that is the great thing--at my age.” “Always thinking about Lucy,” Mrs. Stone said. “Yes, always about Lucy. She is worth it, ma’am, a girl with her prospects is something worth thinking about. She has all the world before her, she has the ball at her foot.” “Ah, Mr. Trevor, that is what we always think when we are young; everything that is good is going to happen to us, and nothing that is evil. We think we can choose for ourselves, and make our lives for ourselves.” “And so she shall,” said old Trevor, “ay, that she shall. I beg your pardon, ma’am, but when I speak of Lucy it isn’t merely as a little bit of a girl with her life before her. I think of the place she is to take, and the power she will have in her hands.”