An hour passed. Lucia had entirely recovered from her little fit of
sulkiness, and, to the great content of Maurice, was, if possible, even
more sweet and winning than usual; but nothing had been said of the next
day's plans. When the young man rose to leave, however, Lucia followed
him out to the verandah to look at the moonlight.

"We shall have a fine day to-morrow" he said.

"Oh, Maurice," she answered, quickly, as if she had been waiting for the
opportunity of speaking, "I am sure mamma does not want me to go, and I
would so much rather stay at home. Will you go and tell Mrs. Bellairs in
the morning for me?"

"Impossible! Why Lucia, this is a mere fancy of yours."

"Indeed it is not. I am quite in earnest."

"But, my dear child, Mrs. Bellairs has your mother's promise, and I do
not see how you can break a positive engagement without better reason."

She stood silent, looking down.

"Are you thinking of that foolish conversation at dinner to-day? I
wonder Mrs. Bellairs should have repeated it."

"It was Bella Latour who told me."

"Ah," said Maurice, "I forgot her. Of course it was. Well, at any rate,
think no more of it."