Lucy veered a little further off from him, as if she had been forced by the wind, but went on taking no notice of the interruption. “I saw her, for a moment. Yes, I thought you would be surprised. She is very handsome; and I was prejudiced--of course I was prejudiced. I thought, as women, I suppose, always do, that she looked bold, not as a girl should. I have no doubt,” said Lucy, with a sigh, “that she thought the same of me.” “No one could think that of you.” “Oh, perhaps not that, but something equally disagreeable. She thought most probably that I was proud. She did not speak to me. I said I hoped she would be happy,” said Lucy, dropping her voice, “and I hope I meant it, but I am not quite sure. Of course, I wish Arthur to be happy, and he cannot be happy unless his wife is. So that, at least, makes my wish quite sincere.” “And she did not speak to you! She did not think it an honour, the greatest honour that could have been done her--” “Why should she think it an honour? It was her wedding-day. She was the first person to be thought of. And I did not mean to see her, at least, to speak to her. I did not mean that Arthur should find me out. Oh!” cried Lucy, with sudden compunction, “I retract all I said just now. When she came into the church, before she knew that I was there, she did not look bold. She looked beautiful, yes, beautiful! happy and serious, and not thinking who was there. Just, I should think, as a girl who is going to be married ought to look,” said Lucy, with a soft mantling of colour, less than a blush, impersonal, meaning the soft thrill of fellow-feeling, nothing more. “But afterwards--you thought her bold?--who is she? Did you see her people? Has she any people?” said Bertie, “that is almost as important as herself.” Lucy gave a slight shudder, which was not thrown away upon her companion. She had scarcely seen the rest of the Bates’ at the time, but now the peculiarities of the other members of the group seemed to come back to her with the retrospective memory which excitement possesses. She could see them now--the shabby father upon whom that beautiful girl leant, the mother in her Paisley shawl, and the flippant Sarah Jane. These were the “people” of her brother’s wife. She made no reply, and her cousin went on. “What a blessing that so much of the estate is entailed! Radicals may speak as they please about the law of entail, but how many old families would be kept up without? Fortunately, however angry my uncle might be, he has no power to punish Arthur; at least it cannot but be a moderate punishment. So long as he has Oakley--” “He has not Oakley, Cousin Bertie. I wish you would not always talk of the time when papa will be gone. We may all be gone before him for anything we know;” and once more she put out her two fingers under the folds of her warm jacket to avert the omen. The Rector caught the movement and laughed. “You are superstitious, Lucy. Why do you make that mystic sign at me?”