“What people?”

“Bella has been telling me—­;”

“Telling you what, my child?  That people are stupid?”

Lucia sat down again in her old place, and pulled her mother back into hers.  Then with her two elbows resting on Mrs. Costello’s lap, and her red cheek hidden by her hands, she answered, with a comical sort of disdain and half-affected anger,

“Mamma, just think.  At Mrs. Bellairs’ to-day, at dinner, Mr. Percy was asking questions about what was going to be done to-morrow, and he did not seem to think, Bella said, that the picnic would be much fun, but he was greatly amused by the idea of dancing in a half-finished house, and wanted to know where they would find enough ladies for partners; so Mr. Bellairs said there were plenty of partners in the neighbourhood, and pretty ones, too; and Mr. Percy made some speech about being already quite convinced of the beauty of the Cacouna ladies.  You know the kind of thing a man would say when Mrs. Bellairs and Bella were there.  But Mr. Bellairs told him he had not yet seen a fair specimen; but that there was a little half Spanish girl here who would show him what beauty meant.  Mamma, was it not dreadfully stupid of him?” And Lucia, in spite of her indignation, could not restrain a laugh as she looked, half shy, half saucy, into her mother’s face.

Mrs. Costello laughed too; but there was as deep a flush on her cheek as on her daughter’s, and her heart throbbed painfully.

“Well,” she said, “but this rara avis was not named?”

“Yes she was.  Oh!  I can’t tell you all; but you know Maurice was there, and Mr. Bellairs told Mr. Percy that he ought to be the best qualified to describe her, because he saw her every day.  Then Mr. Percy asked what was her name, and Mr. Bellairs told him.  But when Mr. Percy asked Maurice something, he only said, ’Do you believe people can be described, Mr. Percy?  I don’t; and if I did, I should not make a catalogue of a lady’s qualities for the benefit of others.’”

“Well done, Lucia, most correctly reported.  Who has been telling tales?”

An unsuspected listener stepped out with these words from the dark parlour on to the verandah; but Lucia, springing up at the sound of his voice, flew past him and disappeared.

He came forward, “Don’t be angry, Mrs. Costello.  I met Margery at the gate, and she sent me in.  I assure you I did not hear more than the last sentence; yet, you see I met with a listener’s fate.”

“I don’t see it at all.  On the contrary, you did hear good of yourself.”

“I am glad you think so.  Lucia is to be with Mrs. Bellairs to-morrow?”

“Yes.  She says at present that she will not, but we shall see.”

“I left early, and met Mrs. Bellairs and Miss Latour on the way.  They told me they had been here.”

Maurice leaned against a pillar of the verandah and was silent, his eyes turned to the door through which Lucia had vanished.