“Let us give it up to them,” said Lady Judith to Richard.  “You and I never will make so delightful and beautifully balanced a world of it.”

Richard appeared to have grown perfectly willing to give everything up to the fair face, his bridal Hesper.

Neat day Lucy had to act the coward anew, and, as she did so, her heart sank to see how painfully it affected him that she should hesitate to go with him to his father.  He was patient, gentle; he sat down by her side to appeal to her reason, and used all the arguments he could think of to persuade her.

“If we go together and make him see us both:  if he sees he has nothing to be ashamed of in you—­rather everything to be proud of; if you are only near him, you will not have to speak a word, and I’m certain—­as certain as that I live—­that in a week we shall be settled happily at Raynham.  I know my father so well, Lucy.  Nobody knows him but I.”

Lucy asked whether Mr. Harley did not.

“Adrian?  Not a bit.  Adrian only knows a part of people, Lucy; and not the best part.”

Lucy was disposed to think more highly of the object of her conquest.

“Is it he that has been frightening you, Lucy?”

“No, no, Richard; oh, dear no!” she cried, and looked at him more tenderly because she was not quite truthful.

“He doesn’t know my father at all,” said Richard.  But Lucy had another opinion of the wise youth, and secretly maintained it.  She could not be won to imagine the baronet a man of human mould, generous, forgiving, full of passionate love at heart, as Richard tried to picture him, and thought him, now that he beheld him again through Adrian’s embassy.  To her he was that awful figure, shrouded by the midnight.  “Why are you so harsh?” she had heard Richard cry more than once.  She was sure that Adrian must be right.

“Well, I tell you I won’t go without you,” said Richard, and Lucy begged for a little more time.

Cupid now began to grumble, and with cause.  Adrian positively refused to go on the water unless that element were smooth as a plate.  The South-west still joked boisterously at any comparison of the sort; the days were magnificent; Richard had yachting engagements; and Lucy always petitioned to stay to keep Adrian company, concerning it her duty as hostess.  Arguing with Adrian was an absurd idea.  If Richard hinted at his retaining Lucy, the wise youth would remark:  “It’s a wholesome interlude to your extremely Cupidinous behaviour, my dear boy.”

Richard asked his wife what they could possibly find to talk about.

“All manner of things,” said Lucy; “not only cookery.  He is so amusing, though he does make fun of The Pilgrim’s Scrip, and I think he ought not.  And then, do you know, darling—­you won’t think me vain?—­I think he is beginning to like me a little.”

Richard laughed at the humble mind of his Beauty.

“Doesn’t everybody like you, admire you?  Doesn’t Lord Mountfalcon, and Mr. Morton, and Lady Judith?”