“Oh no, aunt,” said Lucy.  “Why should you wish to part with me?  I give you but little trouble in your great house.”

“Trouble, child? you know you are a comfort to have in any house.”

This pleased Lucy; it was the first gracious word for a long time.  Having thus softened her, Mrs. Bazalgette proceeded to attack her by all the weaknesses of her sex and age, and for a good hour pressed her so hard that the tears often gushed from Lucy’s eyes over her red cheeks.  The girl was worn by the length of the struggle and the pertinacity of the assault.  She was as determined as ever to do nothing, but she had no longer the power to resist in words.  Seeing her reduced to silence, and not exactly distinguishing between impassibility and yielding, Mrs. Bazalgette delivered the coup-de-grace.

“I must now tell you plainly, Lucy, that your character is compromised by being out all night with persons of the other sex.  I would have spared you this, but your resistance compels those who love you to tell you all.  Owing to that unfortunate trip, you are in such a situation that you must marry.”

“The world is surely not so unjust as all this,” sighed Lucy.

“You don’t know the world as I do,” was the reply.  “And those who live in it cannot defy it.  I tell you plainly, Lucy, neither your uncle nor I can keep you any longer, except as an engaged person.  And even that engagement ought to be a very short one.”

“What, aunt? what, uncle? your house is no longer mine?” and she buried her head upon the table.

“Well, Lucy,” said Mr. Fountain, “of course we would not have told you this yesterday.  It would have been ungenerous.  But you are now your own mistress; you are independent.  Young persons in your situation can generally forget in a day or two a few years of kindness.  You have now an opportunity of showing us whether you are one of that sort.”

Here Mrs. Bazalgette put in her word.  “You will not lack people to encourage you in ingratitude—­perhaps my husband himself; but if he does, it will make a lasting breach between him and me, of which you will have been the cause.”

“Heaven forbid!” said Lucy, with a shudder.  “Why should dear Mr. Bazalgette be drawn into my troubles?  He is no relation of mine, only a loyal friend, whom may God bless and reward for his kindness to a poor fatherless, motherless girl.  Aunt, uncle, if you will let me stay with you, I will be more kind, more attentive to you than I have been.  Be persuaded; be advised.  If you succeeded in getting rid of me, you might miss me, indeed you might.  I know all your little ways so well.”

“Lucy, we are not to be tempted to do wrong,” said Mrs. Bazalgette, sternly.  “Choose which of these two offers you will accept.  Choose which you please.  If you refuse both, you must pack up your things, and go and live by yourself, or with Mr. Dodd.”

“Mr. Dodd? why is his name introduced?  Was it necessary to insult me?” and her eyes flashed.