“I don’t find it difficult to believe anything good of Maurice.”

“Oh! and then she told me about Hunsdon.  She was born there, and lived there till she was married.  She told me all about why Mr. Beresford left it to Maurice, and not to her.  But, mamma, I cannot understand how Maurice can be so long away from home.  I should think he must have quantities of things to attend to; and she told me Sir John was always busy, though his estate is not so large as Hunsdon.  Only think, mamma, of Maurice, our Maurice, having more than ten thousand a year!”

“Well, dear, since we have come to talking of our neighbour’s fortunes, I think we had better go to bed.”

“Oh! yes; how thoughtless I am, keeping you up so.  And I must be early to-morrow, for Lady Dighton is coming to see you, and Maurice wants me to go with him for a walk first.  Not to see anything, but just for a walk.”

Mrs. Costello lay down that night with a great feeling of content with regard to her daughter’s future.

“Certainly,” she thought, “Maurice may be satisfied with the affection she has for him; if it is not just the kind of love he wishes for, that is only because it has never entered her mind that he could be anything but a brother to her.  She is so excessively childish in some things!  I shall be glad now when she really does begin to understand.  Only, must I part with her?  Better that than that I should leave her alone; better even than that she should have to go among strange relatives.”

Maurice had asked Lucia to walk with him for the sake of having her quite to himself for an hour, and perhaps of asking that much meditated question.  He had specially bargained that they were not to “go anywhere;” but simply to choose a tolerably quiet road and go straight along it.  Accordingly they started, and went slowly up the sunny slope towards the great arch, talking of yesterday, and of the trifles which always seemed interesting when they spoke of them together.  After they had passed the barrier, they hesitated a little which road to take—­they had already made several expeditions in this direction, and Lucia wanted novelty.  Finally they took the road to Neuilly, and went on for a time very contentedly.  But Maurice, after a while, fell into little fits of silence, thinking how he should first speak of the subject most important to him.  He felt that there could be no better opportunity than this, and he was not cool enough to reflect that it was waste of trouble to try to choose his words, since if Lucia accepted him she would for ever think them eloquent; and if she refused him, would be certain to consider them stupid.  She, on the other hand, was in unusually high spirits.  It had occurred to her that Lady Dighton, who seemed to know everybody, would probably know Percy.  She had begun already to lay deep plans for finding out if this was the case, and after that, where he was at present.  She had thought of him so much lately, and so tenderly; she had remembered so often his earnestness and her own harshness in that last interview, that she felt as if she owed him some reparation, and as if his love were far more ardent than hers, and must needs be more stable also.  The idea that she had advanced a step towards the happiness of meeting him again, added the last ingredient to her content.  She could have danced for joy.