thought of seeing you and of hearing about you--I am
not justifying him: I am only saying what has happened."

"Oh, Mr. Emerson"--she took hold of his hand--"you mustn't. I've been
bother enough to the world by now. I can't have you moving out of your
house when you like it, and perhaps losing money through it--all on my
account. You must stop! I am just going to Greece."

"All the way to Greece?"

Her manner altered.

"To Greece?"

"So you must stop. You won't talk about this business, I know. I can
trust you both."

"Certainly you can. We either have you in our lives, or leave you to the
life that you have chosen."

"I shouldn't want--"

"I suppose Mr. Vyse is very angry with George? No, it was wrong of
George to try. We have pushed our beliefs too far. I fancy that we
deserve sorrow."

She looked at the books again--black, brown, and that acrid theological
blue. They surrounded the visitors on every side; they were piled on the
tables, they pressed against the very ceiling. To Lucy who could not see
that Mr. Emerson was profoundly religious, and differed from Mr. Beebe
chiefly by his acknowledgment of passion--it seemed dreadful that the
old man should crawl into such a sanctum, when he was unhappy, and be
dependent on the bounty of a clergyman.

More certain than ever that she was tired, he offered her his chair.

"No, please sit still. I think I will sit in the carriage."

"Miss Honeychurch, you do sound tired."

"Not a bit," said Lucy, with trembling lips.

"But you are, and there's a look of George about you. And what were you
saying about going abroad?"

She was silent.

"Greece"--and she saw that he was thinking the word over--"Greece; but
you were to be married this year, I thought."

"Not till January, it wasn't," said Lucy, clasping her hands. Would she
tell an actual lie when it came to the point?

"I suppose that Mr. Vyse is going with you. I hope--it isn't because
George spoke that you are both going?"

"No."

"I hope that you will enjoy Greece with Mr. Vyse."

"Thank you."

At that moment Mr. Beebe came back from church. His cassock was covered
with rain. "That's all right," he said kindly. "I counted on you two
keeping each other company. It's pouring again. The entire congregation,
which consists of your cousin, your mother, and my mother, stands
waiting in the church, till the carriage fetches it. Did Powell go
round?"

"I think so; I'll see."

"No--of course, I'll s