“Since the place is so fortunate as to please you, you will stay a week with me, madam, at least.”

“A week!  No, Mr. Fountain; I really admire your courtesy too much to abuse it.”

“Not at all; you will oblige me.”

“I cannot bring myself to think so.”

“You may believe me.  I have a selfish motive.”

“Oh, if you are in earnest.”

“I will explain.  If you are my guest for a week, that will give me a claim to be yours in turn.”  And he bent a keen look upon the lady, as much as to say, “Now I shall see whether you dare let me spy on you as you are doing on me.”

“I propose an amendment,” said Mrs. Bazalgette, with a merry air of defiance:  “for every day I enjoy here you must spend two beneath my roof.  On this condition, I will stay a week at Font Abbey.”

“I consent,” said Mr. Fountain, a little sharply.  He liked the bargain.  “I must leave you to Lucy for a minute; I have some orders to give.  I like my guests to be comfortable.”  With this he retired to his study and pondered.  “What is she here for? it is not affection for Lucy; that is all my eye, a selfish toad like her. (How agreeable she can make herself, though.) She heard I was out, and came here to spy directly.  That was sharp practice.  Better not give her a chance of seeing my game.  I disarmed her suspicion by asking her to stay a week, aha!  Well, during that week Talboys must not come, that is all; aha! my lady, I won’t give those cunning eyes of yours a chance of looking over my hand.”  He then wrote a note to Talboys, telling him there was a guest at Font Abbey, a disagreeable woman, “who makes mischief whenever she can.  She would be sure to divine our intentions, and use all her influence with Lucy to spite me.  You had better stay away till she is gone.”  He sent this off by a servant, then pondered again.

“She suspects something; then that is a sign she has her own designs on Lucy.  Hum! no.  If she had, she would not have invited me to her house.  She invited me directly and cheerfully—!”

Mrs. Bazalgette walked and sat with an arm round Lucy’s waist, and told her seven times before dinner how happy she was at the prospect of a quiet week with her.  In the evening she yawned eleven times.  Next day she asked Lucy who was coming to dinner.

“Nobody, dear.”

“Nobody at all?”

“I thought you would perhaps not care to have our tete-a-tete interrupted yet.”

“Oh, but I should like to explore the natives too.”

“I will give uncle a hint, dear.”  The hint was given very delicately, but the malicious senior had a perverse construction ready immediately.

“So this is her mighty affection for you.  Can’t get through two days without strangers.”

“Uncle,” said Lucy, imploringly, “she is so used to society, and she has me all day; we ought to give her some little amusement at night.”