"THAT was exactly like Robert,"--was his immediate
observation.--"And THAT," he presently added, "might
perhaps be in HIS head when the acquaintance between
them first began. And Lucy perhaps at first might
think only of procuring his good offices in my favour.
Other designs might afterward arise."
How long it had been carrying on between them,
however, he was equally at a loss with herself to make out;
for at Oxford, where he had remained for choice ever since
his quitting London, he had had no means of hearing of her
but from herself, and her letters to the very last were
neither less frequent, nor less affectionate than usual.
Not the smallest suspicion, therefore, had ever occurred
to prepare him for what followed;--and when at last it
burst on him in a letter from Lucy herself, he had been
for some time, he believed, half stupified between
the wonder, the horror, and the joy of such a deliverance.
He put the letter into Elinor's hands.
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