Mrs. Mainwaring, with a kind of affectionate enthusiasm, put her hand upon the beautiful girl’s hand, and was about to speak; but she paused for more than half a minute, during which space her serene and benevolent face assumed an expression of profound thought and seriousness.  At length she sighed rather deeply, and said,

“My dear Lucy, it is too bad that the happiness of such a girl as you should be wrecked; but, worst of all, that it should be wrecked upon a most unprincipled profligate.  You know the humbleness of my birth; the daughter of a decent farmer, who felt it a duty to give his children the only boon, except his blessing, that he had to bestow upon them—­a good education.  Well, my dear child, I beg that you will not be disheartened, nor suffer your spirits to droop.  You will look surprised when I tell you that I think it more than probable, if I am capable of judging your father’s heart aright, that I shall be able by a short interview with him to change the whole current of his ambition, and to bring about such a revulsion of feeling against Lord Dunroe, as may prevent him from consenting to your union with that nobleman under any circumstances.  Nay, not to stop here; but that I shall cause him to look upon the breaking up of this contemplated marriage as one of the greatest blessings that could befall his family.”

“Such an event might be possible,” replied Lucy, “were I not unfortunately satisfied that papa is already aware of Dunroe’s loose habits of life, which he views only as the giddiness of a young and buoyant spirit that marriage would reform.  He says Dunroe is only sowing his wild oats, as, with false indulgence, he is pleased to term it.  Under these circumstances, then, I fear he would meet you with the same arguments, and as they satisfy himself so you will find him cling to the dangerous theory they establish.”

“But, Lucy, my dear child, you are quite mistaken in your estimate of the arguments which I should use, because you neither can know nor suspect their import.  They apply not at all to Lord Dunroe’s morals, I assure you.  It is enough to say, at present, that I am not at liberty to disclose them; and, indeed, I never intended to do so; but as a knowledge of the secret I possess may not only promote your happiness, but relieve you from the persecution and misery you endure on this young nobleman’s account, I think it becomes my duty to have an interview with your father on the subject.”

“Before you do so, my dear madam,” replied Lucy, “it is necessary that I should put you in possession of—­of—­” there was here a hesitation, and a blush, and a confusion of manner, that made Mrs. Mainwaring look at her with some attention.

“Take care, Lucy,” she said smiling; “a previous engagement, I’ll warrant me.  I see you blush.”

“But not for its object, Mrs. Mainwaring,” she replied.  “However, you are right; and papa is aware of it.”

“I see, Lucy; and on that account he wishes to hurry on this hated marriage—?”