‘You are the best and kindest of aunts!’ Lucy declared. ‘I do understand what you must feel—indeed, I do! Never would I ask you to do what you think wrong! I had not reflected how impossible it must be for you! Forgive me!’
Much heartened, Miss Tresilian recommended her not to be a goose, and wondered how speedily she could put her plans into execution, and what her exacting elder sister would say when she learned that she meant, instead of returning to her home in Camden Place, to embark on an extended foreign tour.
It could not have been said that Lucy entered into any of the arrangements which occupied Miss Tresilian’s every moment during the follow week, or evinced the smallest enthusiasm for any of the promised treats in store, but she uttered no protests, and that, in Miss Tresilian’s opinion, was as much as could be hoped for in the natural oppression of her spirits. Calculating ways and means, Miss Tresilian paused to consider the likelihood of Mr Rosely’s following his inamorata. Probably Lord Iver would scotch any such scheme, but she determined nevertheless to add her prohibition to his.
In the event, she was denied the opportunity of private speech with Mr Rosely. Returning to Green Street just after eleven one morning, after a protracted appointment in the City she was met by her personal maid, who did not scruple to read her a scold for having sallied forth alone on what this severe critic apparently believed to have been an expedition fraught with peril. ‘And breakfast waiting for you this hour past!’ said Miss Baggeridge, relieving her of her shawl and gloves. ‘Now, you sit down this instant, Miss Elinor! Traipsing all about the town, and knocking yourself up like you are! What your poor mama would have said I’m sure I don’t know!’