“You go down to the others,” said Lucy; “Charlotte and I will give Mr. Emerson all he wants. Where's mother?”

“She's started on her Sunday writing. She's in the drawing-room.”

“That's all right. You go away.”

He went off singing.

Lucy sat down at the table. Miss Bartlett, who was thoroughly frightened, took up a book and pretended to read.

She would not be drawn into an elaborate speech. She just said: “I can't have it, Mr. Emerson. I cannot even talk to you. Go out of this house, and never come into it again as long as I live here — ” flushing as she spoke and pointing to the door. “I hate a row. Go please.”