CHAPTER XXXII. THE FIRST LETTER.

dyglowedwithtwilightruddinessbutIthoughtshewishedtheroomdimmer,thehourlater. “Howquietandsecludedwefeelhere!”Iremarked,toreassureher. “Dowe?Yesitisastillevening,andIshallnotbecalleddowntoteapapaisdiningout.” Stillholdingmyhand,sheplayedwiththefingersunconsciously,dressedthem,nowinherownrings,andnowcircledthemwithatwineofherbeautifulhairshepattedthepalmagainstherhotcheek,andatlast,havingclearedavoicethatwasnaturallyliquidasalark’s,shesaid:— “YoumustthinkitratherstrangethatIshouldtalksomuchaboutDr.Bretton,asksomanyquestions,takesuchaninterest,but—”. “Notatallstrangeperfectlynaturalyoulikehim.” “AndifIdid,”saidshe,withslightquickness,“isthatareasonwhyIshouldtalk?Isupposeyouthinkmeweak,likemycousinGinevra?” “IfIthoughtyouonewhitlikeMadameGinevra,Iwouldnotsitherewaitingforyourcommunications.Iwouldgetup,walkatmyeaseabouttheroom,andanticipateallyouhadtosaybyaroundlecture.Goon.” “Imeantogoon,”retortedshe“whatelsedoyousupposeImeantodo?” Andshelookedandspoke—thelittlePollyofBretton—petulant,sensitive. “If,”saidshe,emphatically,“ifIlikedDr.JohntillIwasfittodieforlikinghim,thatalonecouldnotlicensemetobeotherwisethandumb—dumbasthegrave—dumbasyou,LucySnowe—youknowit—andyouknowyouwoulddespisemeifIfailedinself-control,andwhinedaboutsomericketylikingthatwasallonmyside.” “ItistrueIlittlerespectwomenorgirlswhoareloquaciouseitherinboastingthetriumphs,orbemoaningthemortifications,offeelings.Butastoyou,Paulina,speak,forIearnestlywishtohearyou.Tellmeallitwillgiveyoupleasureorrelieftotell:Iasknomore.” “Doyoucareforme,Lucy?” “Yes,Ido,Paulina.” “AndIloveyou.IhadanoddcontentinbeingwithyouevenwhenIwasalittle,troublesome,disobedientgirlitwascharmingtomethentolavishonyoumynaughtinessandwhims.Nowyouareacceptabletome,andIliketotalkwithandtrustyou.Solisten,Lucy.” Andshesettledherself,restingagainstmyarm—restinggently,notwithhonestMistressFanshawe’sfatiguingandselfishweight. “AfewminutessinceyouaskedwhetherwehadnotheardfromGrahamduringourabsence,andIsaidthereweretwolettersforpapaonbusinessthiswastrue,butIdidnottellyouall.” “Youevaded?” “Ishuffledandequivocated,youknow.However,Iamgoingtospeakthetruthnowitisgettingdarkeronecantalkatone’sease.Papaoftenletsmeopentheletter-bagandgivehimoutthecontents.Onemorning,aboutthreeweeksago,youdon’tknowhowsurprisedIwastofind,amongstadozenlettersforM.deBassompierre,anoteaddressedtoMissdeBassompierre.Ispieditatonce,amidstalltherestthehandwritingwasnotstrangeitattractedmedirectly.Iwasgoingtosay,‘Papa,hereisanotherletterfromDr.Bretton’butthe‘Miss’struckmemute.Iactuallyneverreceivedaletterfromagentlemanbefore.OughtItohaveshownittopapa,andlethimopenitandreaditfirst?Icouldnotformylife,Lucy.Iknowsowellpapa’sideasaboutme:heforgetsmyagehethinksIamamereschool-girlheisnotawarethatotherpeopleseeIamgrownupastallasIshallbeso,withacuriousmixtureoffeelings,someofthemself-reproachful,andsomesoflutteringandstrong,Icannotdescribethem,Igavepapahistwelveletters—hisherdofpossessions—andkeptbackmyone,myewe-lamb.Itlayinmylapduringbreakfast,lookingupatmewithaninexplicablemeaning,makingmefeelmyselfathingdouble-existent—achildtothatdearpapa,butnomoreachildtomyself.Afterbrea