He told his wife afterwards that he had begun the day's work entirely from a sense of duty towards poor Mary; but that for once he had found that kind of thing almost as amusing as women seemed to do.
The young girl with her half-Indian nature, and wholly Canadian--ultra Canadian--bringing up, was so bright, simple, and naive, that she was worth watching.

Her wonderful beauty, and the unconscious grace of her father's people, kept her from ever appearing countrified or awkward; her simplicity was that of a lovely child, and was in no way discordant with the higher nature she had shown in the bitter troubles and perplexities of the past year.

She felt safe now and hopeful, inconceivably, absurdly hopeful--yet there was this difference between the happiness of long ago and the happiness to-day, that then she _could_ not believe in sorrow, and now she only _would_ not.
They went back to their hotel for another night.

Next day they moved to the apartment they had taken, and submitted themselves to the ministrations of Claudine, their French version of Margery.

Submitted is exactly the right word for Lucia's behaviour, at any rate.