"No. Only think what Lucy has done and is doing. If she had chosen to
say that she would accept your son I really do not know how you could
have justly blamed her. I do not by any means say that I would have
advised such a thing."
"I am glad of that, Fanny."
"I have not given any advice; nor is it needed. I know no one more
able than Lucy to see clearly, by her own judgement, what course she
ought to pursue. I should be afraid to advise one whose mind is so
strong, and who, of her own nature, is so self-denying as she is.
She is sacrificing herself now, because she will not be the means of
bringing trouble and dissension between you and your son. If you ask
me, Lady Lufton, I think you owe her a deep debt of gratitude. I do,
indeed. And as for blaming her--what has she done that you possibly
could blame?"
"Don Quixote on horseback!" said Lady Lufton. "Fanny, I shall always
call you Don Quixote, and some day or other I will get somebody to
write your adventures. But the truth is this, my dear; there has been
imprudence. You may call it mine, if you will--though I really hardly
see how I am to take the blame. I could not do other than ask Miss
Robarts to my house, and I could not very well turn my son out of it.
In point of fact, it has been the old story.
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