This was not exactly Lucy’s point of view, but she had no gift for argument. She thought it was time to take refuge in a little harmless gossip, which was the only thing that now and then gave her the possibility of an escape from the will. “Mrs. Stone has a visitor,” she said, “a gentleman come to see her. Mademoiselle thinks it very wrong to have a gentleman where there are so many girls. He is Mrs. Stone’s nephew; his name is Mr. Frank St. Clair. It is quite a pretty name, isn’t it, papa? and he is good-looking, though Katie says it is the barber’s-stock style. How I know is, that Katie and I went to Mrs. Stone’s parlor to tea. She never asks more than two girls on Sunday, and it shows she is pleased with you when she asks you. We all like to be asked to the parlor to tea.” “Ah!” said old Trevor. He laughed, and looked at Lucy with a great many nods of his gray head. “Mrs. Stone is generally pleased with _you_, eh, Lucy? She is a sensible woman; she knows what’s what, as well as any one, I know. And so she has had her nephew down _already_. She is a clever woman, a prompt woman. I have a great opinion of Mrs. Stone.” “Do you know him, then?” said Lucy, with a little surprise. “She said she could not pretend to entertain him at the White House, which is given up to education, and that it would be nice for him to be able to come and talk to you.” At this Mr. Trevor chuckled more and more; he rubbed his hands with glee. “She is quite capable of it,” he cried, delighted, “quite capable of it. She is a clever woman, Lucy. I have always had a great admiration for Mrs. Stone.” “Capable of what?” said Lucy, almost angry. She, for her part, had a great admiration for Mrs. Stone. She had a girl’s belief in and loyalty to, the elder woman, who yet was not too old to be out of sympathy with girls. She admired her mature beauty, her dress, everything about her, and to hear Mrs. Stone laughed at was painful to Lucy. It affected that _esprit de corps_ which is next to self-regard, or sometimes even goes before it. She fell, her own moral standing involved when any one questioned, or seemed to question, the superiority of her leader. It was almost the only occasion on which any latent gleam of temper came to Lucy’s mild eyes. Mr. Trevor laughed again. “You don’t understand it, my dear,” he said, “it’s a joke between Mrs. Stone and me. She is capable of making me a party to my own defeat,” he said, with a new series of chuckles, “of bringing me into the conspiracy against myself. That’s what I call clever, Lucy; oh, she’s a very able woman! but let us hope this time she won’t be so successful as she deserves. Forewarned is forearmed; I know now what I’ve got to look forward to, and I hope she won’t find me an easy prey, my dear, thanks to you.”