“Impossible, my dear; you don't know boys. The stable is their paradise. When he grows older his father must interfere; meantime, let us talk of something more agreeable.” “Yes; you shall go on with your story. You had got to his look of despair when your papa came in that morning.” “Oh, I have no time for anybody's despair just now; I can think of nothing but this detestable gown. Lucy, I suspect I almost wish I had made them put another breadth into the skirt.” “Luncheon, ma'am.” Lucy begged her aunt to go down alone; she would stay and work. “No, you must come to luncheon; there is a dish on purpose for you--stewed eels.” “Eels; why, I abhor them; I think they are water-serpents.” “Who is it that is so fond of them, then?” “It is you, aunt.” “So it is. I thought it had been you. Come, you must come down, whether you eat anything or not. I like somebody to talk to me while I am eating, and I had an idea just now--it is gone--but perhaps it will come back to me: it was about this abominable gown. O! how I wish there was not such a thing as dress in the world!!!” While Mrs. Bazalgette was munching water-snakes with delicate zeal, and Lucy nibbling cake, came a letter. Mrs. Bazalgette read it with heightening color, laid it down, cast a pitying glance on Lucy, and said, with a sigh, “Poor girl!” Lucy turned a little pale. “Has anything happened?” she faltered. “Something is going to happen; you are to be torn away from here, where you are so happy--where we all love you, dear. It is from that selfish old bachelor. Listen: 'Dear madam, my niece Lucy has been due here three days. I have waited to see whether you would part with her without being dunned. My curiosity on that point is satisfied, and I have now only my affection to consult, which I do by requesting you to put her and her maid into a carriage that will be waiting for her at your door twenty-four hours after you receive this note. I have the honor to be, madam,' an old brute!!” “And you can smile; but that is you all over; you don't care a straw whether you are happy or miserable.” “Don't I?” “Not you; you will leave this, where you are a little queen, and go and bury yourself three months with that old bachelor, and nobody will ever gather from your face that you are bored to death; and here we are asked to the Cavendishes' next Wednesday, and the Hunts' ball on Friday--you are such a lucky girl--our best invitations always drop in while you are with us--we go out three times as often during your months as at other times; it is your good fortune, or the weather, or something.” “Dear aunt, this was your own arrangement with Uncle Fountain. I used to be six months with each in turn till you insisted on its being three. You make me almost laugh, both you and Uncle Fountain; what _do_ you see in me worth quarreling for?” “I will tell you what _he_ sees--a good little spiritless thing--” “I am larger than you, dear.”