One day her mother asked a gentleman opposite if he would “take” some of the dish before her, and Lucy looked timidly towards Lord Montreville to see if he had caught the sound of a word which was peculiarly obnoxious to his ears. Emma, on another occasion, exclaimed, what a “delicious” trifle, and she felt a chill run through her, for she knew he had a particular aversion to an epithet, which to him seemed expressive of gluttony. Mary (who had never dined down before) was so delighted with the variety of excellent dishes before her, that she was much inclined to go the round of the second course, and needed many admonitory nods and frowns from her mother. She also frequently tipped her chair on its two fore-legs while she was writing or working, and this Lucy knew was an unpardonable sin. Both girls were gay and wild, and had, as most sisters have, till they have been a little schooled in the world, the habit of talking over each other, and sometimes of interrupting the person speaking in their eagerness to rejoin. On such occasions Lord Montreville stopped short, and betook himself to a silence which was most painful to Lucy, although it was entirely unperceived by the culprits. Lucy occasionally attempted to give them gentle hints upon these subjects, but they only seemed to think she was grown quite fine, and very difficult to please, and they could not conceal their disappointment at the retirement in which she lived. The result was, that at the end of three weeks, when the large coach which contained them all drove from the door, a sensation of relief mingled itself with the sorrow she felt at parting from them. Milly remained at Ashdale Park, and Lucy looked forward with unmixed pleasure to the prospect of having always about her a person so thoroughly attached, and in whom she had such perfect confidence. In the autumn the long-expected event took place,—Lord Montreville was made happy by the birth of a son, and Lucy was delighted to think she should soon be a free agent again. They had removed to London for the occasion. Lord Montreville was a great deal from home, and, as there were very few people in town, the time hung heavy with Lucy; for she was so impatient to leave her sick room and her sofa, that she did not find every thought and feeling wholly absorbed in the new-born babe. She was very young in years, and still more so in character: she had by no means had enough of youth and gaiety, and was not yet ripe for the tender affections and dull details of maternity. She was charmed with her baby, and was very unhappy if it cried, but it did not suffice her for amusement to watch it all day long. She wished Lord Montreville would stay at home, and read to her, or would bring her home some news, or that somebody would come, or something happen.