Lionel Delville, who from the first had been exceedingly favourable to Lucy, now found his cousin’s house the most agreeable in London; and took advantage of the privileges of relationship to be always in attendance. It seemed to be a settled thing, that he was her most obsequious slave. Open conventional gallantry, and cousinly intimacy, were so skilfully blended, that it was difficult to ascertain when and where real gallantry commenced. She was proud of the admiration of the oracle of statesmen, and pleased with the devotion of the oracle of fashion. She was the life of society; she became a great talker, and her spirits rose with the exertion. Her voice was by nature so sweetly modulated, that no one could be tired of hearing it; her countenance was so soft, that although she occasionally sported the most decided opinions, they did not seem _tranchant_, when delivered by her. If success in the great world could constitute the whole happiness of any person with naturally good feelings, she might now have been happy. But was she so? No. She had not been brought up without some attention to religious subjects. She always went to church, and would have felt uneasy if she had omitted to do so; she had a general desire and resolution to do what was right, and a horror of doing what was wrong. Her own domestic discontents, Sophy’s arguments and example, the natural desire after happiness inherent in our nature, and the vanity which is lurking at the bottom of most hearts, had combined to lead her thus far on the road to wrong; but she could not be happy, unless she felt satisfied with herself. She often thought, “How cheerful the Duchess of Altonworth is! How placid she looks! Nothing ever worries her, and every thing worries me. It makes me unhappy and discontented with myself to see her;” and the result was, that she frequented her quiet and select _soirées_ less and less; for when not in a whirl of engagements, she invariably felt weary and listless. Though the constant tribute paid to her charms afforded her but little pleasure, she felt the want of it, if by any chance it was withheld. Then she became fastidious upon the subject. She despised the homage of common-place empty youngsters; she ridiculed the _doux yeux_ of old men; she was disgusted with fulsome compliments; but Lionel Delville knew how to flatter, without appearing to do so; he had learned in his cousin’s school, and Lord Montreville saw his own arts practised upon his wife.