At last my Lady Chesterfield said to him, penitently, “This is a poor compliment to you, Mr. Dodd”; and then Niobized again, partly, I believe, with regret that she was behaving so discourteously.

“It is very natural,” said David, kindly, “but we shall soon see them all again, you know.”

Presently she looked in his radiant face, with wet eyes, but a half-smile.  “You amaze me; you don’t seem the least terrified at what we have done.”

“Not a bit,” cried David, like a cheerful horn:  “I have been in worse peril than this, and so have you.  Our troubles are all over; I see nothing but happiness ahead.”  He then drew a sunny picture of their future life, to all which she listened demurely; and, in short, he treated her little feminine distress as the summer sun treats a mist that tries to vie with it.  He soon dried her up, and when they reached their journey’s end she was as bright as himself.

CHAPTER XXXI.

THEY had been married a week.  A slight change, but quite distinct to an observer of her sex, bloomed in Lucy’s face and manner.  A new beauty was in her face—­the blossom of wifehood.  Her eyes, though not less modest, were less timid than before; and now they often met David’s full, and seemed to sip affection at them.  When he came near her, her lovely frame showed itself conscious of his approach.  His queen, though he did not know it, was his vassal.  They sat at table at a little inn, twenty miles from Harrowden, for they were on their return to Mrs. Wilson.  Lucy went to the window while David settled the bill.  At the window it is probable she had her own thoughts, for she glided up behind David, and, fanning his hair with her cool, honeyed breath, she said, in the tone of a humble inquirer seeking historical or antiquarian information, “I want to ask you a question, David:  are you happy too?"

David answered promptly, but inarticulately; so his reply is lost to posterity.  Conjecture alone survives.

One disappointment awaited Lucy at Mrs. Wilson’s.  There were several letters for both David and her, but none from Mr. Bazalgette.  She knew by that she had lost his respect.  She could not blame him, for she saw how like disingenuousness and hypocrisy her conduct must look to him.  “I must trust to time and opportunity,” she said, with a sigh.  She proposed to David to read all her letters, and she would read all his.  He thought this a droll idea; but nothing that identified him with his royal vassal came amiss.  The first letter of Lucy’s that David opened was from Mr. Talboys.

“DEAR MADAM—­I have heard of your marriage with Mr. Dodd, and desire to offer both you and him my cordial congratulations.

“I feel under considerable obligation to Mr. Dodd; and, should my house ever have a mistress, I hope she will be able to tempt you both to renew our acquaintance under my roof, and so give me once more that opportunity I have too little improved of showing you both the sincere respect and gratitude with which I am,