But its chief ornament, and Mrs. Martin's greatest pride (next to Lucy herself), was a glass door, that opened into her demesne: a plot of ground, containing about an acre and a half, which was kitchen garden, flower garden, and orchard, all in one. This glass door had been a present of young Mr. Mordaunt's, in whose company Mrs. Martin had often undesignedly lamented, that the sole entrance to her garden was through the scullery, and, on her return from her only visit to London, about two years before this narration commences, she had been most agreeably surprised by the improvement in question.--Various and manifold were the speculations, to which this little piece of good natured gallantry had given rise in the simple mind of Mrs. Martin.--"Indeed, indeed, she never thought of his doing such a thing! so generous! so kind! and then his manner was always so obliging and polite; it could not certainly be for herself that he took the trouble of ordering the glass door; and she remembered very well, when he called after their return from London, that he said he was very glad to see a town life had agreed so well with Lucy, though Mrs. Crosbie had very good naturedly said, she thought she didn't look half so well as before she went. To be sure, she never saw him _talk_ much to Lucy, but then she was so shy!"--Mrs. Martin had been standing for some minutes at this same glass door, one fine evening in July, indulging in a similar reverie, when it was suddenly interrupted by the abrupt entrance of Lucy, who, with as much concern in her countenance as her vacant unmeaning features could express, exclaimed--"La! Aunt, he won't come to-night after all!"--"Not come, child!" answered Mrs. Martin, "why, I never expected he would."--"Not expect Mr. Brown?" returned Lucy, in a tone something between anger and surprise; "Not expect Mr. Brown? why I'm sure he'd come if he could, and you'd never ask the Lucases without him." "No, indeed, my dear, I would not;" replied Mrs. Martin, totally unconscious that her first answer had alluded to the subject of her own thoughts, not to the constant object of poor Lucy's--"He is a well behaved, sober young man, and very attentive to the shop; but why won't he come to-night?"--"He just rode up as I was standing at the gate with this little bottle of rose water, which he brought then, because, he said, he had to go to squire Thornbull's to see the cook, and he didn't think he could be back for tea do what he would--I'm sure I wish Mr. Lucas would attend his own patients."--"Well, Lucy, I suppose the rest will soon be here; do just set down the tray, my love, whilst I go and see if Peggy is doing the Sally Lunn right." Poor Lucy proceeded to her task with unwonted gloom, having first stopped to take one more smell of the rose water before she placed it on the ready book shelf; and so slow was she in her movements, that the tea table was scarcely arranged, when she heard her aunt accost