"Baedeker?" said Mr. Emerson. "I'm glad it's THAT you minded.
It's worth minding, the loss of a Baedeker. THAT'S worth
minding."

Lucy was puzzled. She was again conscious of some new idea, and
was not sure whither it would lead her.

"If you've no Baedeker," said the son, "you'd better join us."
Was this where the idea would lead? She took refuge in her
dignity.

"Thank you very much, but I could not think of that. I hope you
do not suppose that I came to join on to you. I really came to
help with the child, and to thank you for so kindly giving us
your rooms last night. I hope that you have not been put to any
great inconvenience."

"My dear," said the old man gently, "I think that you are
repeating what you have heard older people say. You are
pretending to be touchy; but you are not really. Stop being so
tiresome, and tell me instead what part of the church you want to
see. To take you to it will be a real pleasure."

Now, this was abominably impertinent, and she ought to have been
furious. But it is sometimes as difficult to lose one's temper as
it is difficult at other times to keep it. Lucy could not get
cross. Mr. Emerson was an old man, and surely a girl might humour
him. On the other hand, his son was a young man, and she felt
that a girl ought to be offended with him, or at all events be
offended before him. It was at him that she gazed before