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Queen Lucia, CHAPTER 13, part 7

CHAPTER 13, part 7

"Dearest Lucia," she said, "how nice to see you! What is it?" "I just popped in for a chat," said she. "I haven't set eyes on you since the evening of the Spanish quartette." "No! So long ago as that is it? Well, you must come in again sometime very soon, won't you? The day after tomorrow I shall be much less busy. Promise to look in then." "You have a visitor with you, have you not?" asked Lucia desperately.

"Yes! Two, indeed, dear friends of mine. But I am afraid you would not like them. I know your opinion about anything connected with spiritualism, and--isn't it silly of us?--we've been dabbling in that." "Oh, but how interesting," said Lucia. "I--I am always ready to learn, and alter my opinions if I am wrong." Mrs Quantock did not move from in front of the drawing-room door.

"Yes?" she said. "Then we will have a great talk about it, when you come to see me the day after tomorrow. But I know I shall find you hard to convince." She kissed the tips of her fingers in a manner so hopelessly final that there was nothing to do but go away.

Then with poor generalship, Lucia altered her tactics, and went up to the Village Green where Piggy was telling Georgie about the script signed Annabel. This was repeated again for Lucia's benefit. "Wasn't it too lovely?" said Piggy. "So Annabel's my guide, and she writes a hand quite unlike mine." Lucia gave a little scream, and put her fingers to her ears.

"Gracious me!" she said. "What has come over Riseholme? Wherever I go I hear nothing but talk of seances, and spirits, and automatic writing.

Such a pack of nonsense, my dear Piggy. I wonder at a sensible girl like you." Mrs Weston, propelled by the Colonel, whirled up in her bath-chair.

"'The Palmist's Manual' is too wonderful," she said, "and Jacob and I sat up over it till I don't know what hour. There's a break in his line of life, just at the right place, when he was so ill in Egypt, which is most remarkable, and when Tommy Luton brought round my bath-chair this morning--I had it at the garden-door, because the gravel's just laid at my front-door, and the wheels sink so far into it--'Tommy,' I said, 'let me look at your hand a moment,' and there on his line of fate, was the little cross that means bereavement.


CHAPTER 13, part 7

"Dearest Lucia," she said, "how nice to see you! What is it?" "I just popped in for a chat," said she. "I haven't set eyes on you since the evening of the Spanish quartette." "No! So long ago as that is it? Well, you must come in again sometime very soon, won't you? The day after tomorrow I shall be much less busy. Promise to look in then." "You have a visitor with you, have you not?" asked Lucia desperately.

"Yes! Two, indeed, dear friends of mine. But I am afraid you would not like them. I know your opinion about anything connected with spiritualism, and--isn't it silly of us?--we've been dabbling in that." "Oh, but how interesting," said Lucia. "I--I am always ready to learn, and alter my opinions if I am wrong." Mrs Quantock did not move from in front of the drawing-room door.

"Yes?" she said. "Then we will have a great talk about it, when you come to see me the day after tomorrow. But I know I shall find you hard to convince." She kissed the tips of her fingers in a manner so hopelessly final that there was nothing to do but go away.

Then with poor generalship, Lucia altered her tactics, and went up to the Village Green where Piggy was telling Georgie about the script signed Annabel. This was repeated again for Lucia's benefit. "Wasn't it too lovely?" said Piggy. "So Annabel's my guide, and she writes a hand quite unlike mine." Lucia gave a little scream, and put her fingers to her ears.

"Gracious me!" she said. "What has come over Riseholme? Wherever I go I hear nothing but talk of seances, and spirits, and automatic writing.

Such a pack of nonsense, my dear Piggy. I wonder at a sensible girl like you." Mrs Weston, propelled by the Colonel, whirled up in her bath-chair.

"'The Palmist's Manual' is too wonderful," she said, "and Jacob and I sat up over it till I don't know what hour. There's a break in his line of life, just at the right place, when he was so ill in Egypt, which is most remarkable, and when Tommy Luton brought round my bath-chair this morning--I had it at the garden-door, because the gravel's just laid at my front-door, and the wheels sink so far into it--'Tommy,' I said, 'let me look at your hand a moment,' and there on his line of fate, was the little cross that means bereavement.