“Well, my lady, the baby will soon be business enough for you. What a sweet fellow he grows! Look! he knows you already!” and Milly tried to turn her attention to the child; for she thought all the mischief lay in Lord Montreville’s being so very little like John Roberts; and as that evil was without a remedy, the less it was dwelt upon the better. The wished-for spring came, and Lucy was at once launched into the circle, which, to those who are not admitted, appears far to exceed in glory and delights Dante’s “_Paradiso_.” Lord Montreville did not approve of her going out quite every evening, nor did he like her being seen at four or five parties the same night; but he allowed her a fair proportion of dissipation. He generally accompanied her himself; and without appearing to watch her, he contrived to know exactly what she was doing: but he did not make a point of never letting her stir without him: he took care to do nothing that should make her feel herself doubted, or that should cause either her or himself to appear ridiculous in the eyes of others. His proceedings were, as usual, dictated by the head, rather than by the heart; and were, as usual, framed with reference to the effect to be produced on the world, rather than to any abstract notion of right and wrong. In this instance, however, morality and expediency pointed out the same line of conduct. Lucy was charmed with all she saw, and she was also delighted at finding herself considered charming; but her gaiety was as frank and natural as ever, although more subdued than in her girlish days. She ventured to talk more in society, and there was still enough left of the madcap Lucy to give a certain raciness and originality to what she uttered. Speeches, which in themselves were nothing, pleased from being so like herself. Lord Montreville had now sufficient confidence in her tact not to fear any outbreak which could offend the most fastidious; and he rendered justice to the perfect innocence of her manner, in which there was so complete an absence of prudery or of coquetry, that no one presumed to pay her any marked attention. This was the happiest period of her wedded life. The charms of London society had not yet palled on her, and, although her head was not turned with it, still she could not be insensible to the _éclat_ of her present position. She gradually became quite reconciled to seeing less of Mrs. Bentley and her children than she had at first wished, and she was not so much annoyed as she thought she should have been at not having Emma with her at Almack’s. The Duchess of Altonworth was most kind, and she passed many agreeable evenings with small parties at her house.