“Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. You must come and tell me all about it, although I am not sure whether we shall forgive you for not having written to any of us. She recalled him. He could talk to her as frankly as he could to a man, that she would not take offence at anything so long as it was in the form of explanation. Their chit-chat stopped when they reached the bench. Lucy was filled with happiness, it was her third Christmas at the Becks. ’ ‘But I find it was extremely kind of him,’ protested Melusine, ‘and since it is that he is not any more under arrest—’ ‘No, he ain’t,’ interrupted Trodger in some dudgeon. Annabel thought, and thought again.
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