"They have gone, then?"
"Yes, miss, they have gone."
Lucy sank back. The carriage stopped at the Rectory. She got out
to call for Miss Bartlett. So the Emersons had gone, and all this
bother about Greece had been unnecessary. Waste! That word seemed
to sum up the whole of life. Wasted plans, wasted money, wasted
love, and she had wounded her mother. Was it possible that she
had muddled things away? Quite possible. Other people had. When
the maid opened the door, she was unable to speak, and stared
stupidly into the hall.
Miss Bartlett at once came forward, and after a long preamble
asked a great favour: might she go to church? Mr. Beebe and his
mother had already gone, but she had refused to start until she
obtained her hostess's full sanction, for it would mean keeping
the horse waiting a good ten minutes more.
"Certainly," said the hostess wearily. "I forgot it was Friday.
Let's all go. Powell can go round to the stables."
"Lucy dearest--"
"No church for me, thank you.
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