Presently Lucy interrupted her raptures by an exclamation.  Mrs. Bazalgette looked round, and there was her niece inspecting the ghostly robe which had caused her such a fright.

“Here are oceans of yards of lace on her very nightgrown!” cried Lucy.

“Well, does not every lady wear lace on her nightgown?” was the tranquil reply.  “What is that on yours, pray?”

“A little misery of Valenciennes an inch broad; but this is Mechlin—­superb! delicious!  Well, aunt, you are a sincere votary of the graces; you put on fine things because they are fine things, not with the hollow motive of dazzling society; you wear Mechlin, not for eclat, but for Mechlin.  Alas! how few, like you, pursue quite the same course in the dark that they do in the world’s eye.”

“Don’t moralize, dear; unhook me!”

After breakfast Mrs. Bazalgette asked Lucy how long she could give her to choose which of the two gowns to take, after all.

“Till eight o’clock.”

Mrs. Bazalgette breathed again.  She had thought herself committed to No. 2, and No. 1 was beginning to look lovely in consequence.  At eight, the choice being offered her with impenetrable nonchalance by Lucy, she took Lucy’s without a moment’s hesitation, and sailed off gayly to her own room to put it on, in which progress the ample peach-colored silk held out in both hands showed like Cleopatra’s foresail, and seemed to draw the dame along.

Lucy, too, was happy—­demurely; for in all this business the female novice, “la ruse sans le savoir,” had outwitted the veteran.  Lucy had measured her whole aunt.  So she made dress A for her, but told her she was to have dress B. This at once gave her desires a perverse bent toward her own property, the last direction they could have been warped into by any other means; and so she was deluded to her good, and fitted to a hair, soul and body.

Going to the ball, one cloud darkened for an instant the matron’s mind.

“I am so afraid they will see it only cost nine pounds.”

“Enfant!” replied Lucy, “aetat. 20.”  At the ball Mr. Hardie and Lucy danced together, and were the most admired couple.

The next day Mr. Hardie announced that he was obliged to curtail his visit and go up to London.  Mrs. Bazalgette remonstrated.  Mr. Hardie apologized, and asked permission to make out the rest of his visit on his return.  Mrs. B. accorded joyfully, but Lucy objected:  “Aunt, don’t you be deluded into any such arrangement; Mr. Hardie is liable to another fortnight.  We have nothing to do with his mismanagement.  He comes to spend a fortnight with us:  he tries, but fails.  I am sorry for Mr. Hardie, but the engagement remains in full force.  I appeal to you, Mr. Bazalgette, you are so exact.”

“I don’t see myself how he can get out of it with credit,” said Bazalgette, solemnly.

“I am happy to find that my duty is on the side of my inclination,” said Mr. Hardie.  He smiled, well pleased, and looked handsomer than ever.