She was so absolutely transparent, and so accustomed to
her simple way of doing business, that I suppose she did not comprehend
my difficulty. "They ask _me_, of course, and I tell them what they owe. You owe us half-a-dollar." Half-a-dollar--two shillings sterling--for a night of romance and
terror, a bed and bedroom, a regal breakfast, and--Lucretia to wait upon
one! It was _too_ ridiculous. And these were the good simple Canadian
villagers whom I had suspected of wishing to rob and murder me! I never
felt so ashamed of my own stupidity in the whole course of my life. I must pay it somehow, I supposed, but I could not bear to hand over two
shilling pieces into Lucretia's outstretched palm. It was desecration,
it was sheer sacrilege. But Lucretia took the half-dollar with the
utmost calmness, and went out to order the sleigh. I drove to the rector's, after saying good-bye to Lucretia, with a
clear determination that before I left Richmond she should have
consented to become my wife. Of course there were social differences,
but those would be forgotten in South Kensington, and nobody need ever
know what Lucretia had been in Canada. Besides, she was fit to shine in
the society of duchesses--a society into which I cannot honestly pretend
that I habitually penetrate. The rector and his wife gave me a hearty welcome, and I found Mrs.
Pritchard a good motherly sort of body--just the right woman for helping
on a romantic love-match. So, in the course of the morning, as we walked
back from church, I managed to mention to her casually that a very nice
young woman had come down in the train with me from Quebec. "You don't mean Lucretia?" cried good Mrs. Pritchard. "Lucretia," I answered in a cold sort of way, "I think that _was_ her
name. In fact, I remember she told me so." "Oh yes, everybody calls her Lucretia--indeed, she's hardly got any
other name. She's the dearest creature in the world, as simple as a
child, yet the most engaging and kind-hearted girl you ever met. She was
brought up by some nuns at Montreal, and being a very clever girl, with
a great deal of taste, she was their favourite pupil, and has turned out
a most cultivated person." "Does she paint?" I asked, thinking of the Beatrice. "Oh, beautifully. Her ivory miniatures always take prizes at the Toronto
Exhibition. And she plays and sings charmingly." "Are they well off?" "Very, for Canadians. Lucretia has money of her own, and they have a
good farm besides the hotel." "She said she knew you very well," I ventured to suggest. "Oh yes; in fact, she's coming here this evening. We have an early
dinner--you know our simple Canadian habits--and a few friends will drop
in to high tea after evening service. She and Tom will be among
them--you met Tom, of course?" "I had the pleasure of making Tom's acquaintance at one o'clock this
morning," I answered. "But, excuse my asking it, isn't it a little odd
for you to mix with people in their position?" The rector smiled and put in his word. "This is a democratic country,"
he said; "a mere farmer community, after all. We have little society in
Richmond, and are very glad to know such pleasant intelligent people as
Tom and Lucretia." "But then, the _convenances_," I urged, secretly desiring to have my own
position strengthened. "When I got to the hotel last night, or rather
this morning, there were a lot of rough-looking hulking fellows drinking
whiskey and playing cards." "Ah, I dare say. Old Picard, and young Le Patourel from Melbourne, and
the Post Office people sitting over a quiet game of _écarté_ while they
waited for the last train. The English mail was in last night. As for
the whiskey, that's the custom of the country. We Canadians do nothing
without whiskey. A single glass of Morton's proof does nobody any harm." And these were my robbers and gamblers? A party of peaceable farmers and
sleepy Post officials, sitting up with a sober glass of toddy and
beguiling the time with _écarté_ for love, in expectation of Her
Majesty's mails. I shall never again go to bed with a poker by my side
as long as I live. About seven o'clock our friends came in. Lucretia was once more
charming; this time in a long evening dress, a peach-coloured silk with
square-cut boddice, and a little lace cap on her black hair. I dare say
I saw almost the full extent of her wardrobe in those three changes; but
the impression she produced upon me was still that of boundless wealth. However, as she had money of her own, I no longer wondered at the
richness of her toilette, and I reflected that a comfortable little
settlement might help to outweigh any possible prejudice on my mother's
part. Lucretia was the soul of the evening. She talked, she flirted innocently
with every man in the room (myself included), she played divinely, and
she sang that very song from "Lucrezia Borgia" in a rich contralto
voice. As she rose at last from the piano, I could contain myself no
longer. I must find some opportunity of proposing to her there and then. I edged my way to the little group where she was standing, flushed with
the compliments on her song, talking to our hostess near the piano. As I
approached from behind, I could hear that they were speaking about me,
and I caught a few words distinctly. I paused to listen. It was very
wrong, but twenty is an impulsive age. "Oh, a very nice young man indeed," Lucretia was saying; "and we had a
most enjoyable journey down. He talked so simply, and seemed such an
innocent boy, so I took quite a fancy to him." (My heart beat about two
hundred pulsations to the minute.) "Such a clever, intelligent talker
too, full of wide English views and interests, so different from our
narrow provincial Canadian lads." (Oh, Lucretia, I feel sure of you now. Love at first sight on both sides, evidently!) "And then he spoke to me
so nicely about his mother. I was quite grieved to think he should be
travelling alone on Christmas Eve, and so pleased when I heard he was to
spend his Christmas with you, dear. I thought what I should have felt
if----"

I listened with all my ears. What could Lucretia be going to say? "If _one of my own dear boys was grown up_, and passing his Christmas
alone in a strange land." I reeled. The room swam before me. It was too awful. So all that
Lucretia had ever felt was a mere motherly interest in me as a solitary
English boy away from his domestic turkey on the twenty-fifth of
December! Terrible, hideous, blighting fact! Lucretia was married! The rector's refreshments in the adjoining dining-room only went to the
length of sponge-cake and weak claret-cup. I managed to get away from
the piano without fainting, and swallowed about a quart of the
intoxicating beverage by tumblerfuls. When I had recovered sufficiently
from the shock to trust my tongue, I ventured back into the
drawing-room. It struck me then that I had never yet heard Lucretia's
surname.