“It is certainly a pity you did not choose some one more suited to your unambitious taste; but as you did marry me, and as I have the honour of being your husband, I may be allowed some control over your actions; and I therefore repeat it, I expect you will conduct yourself in such a manner, as is consistent with your reputation and my own.” Lord Montreville left the room with coolness and dignity in his air, but with rage and indignation in his heart. Indignant at having been reproached by the creature he had raised to her present brilliant situation, and whose conduct latterly had destroyed the _prestige_ which her behaviour to him in his illness had thrown around her. Lucy remained in an agony of shame and anger, such as had never yet overpowered her. She rushed to her own room, and was found by Milly, who looked in to ask if she would like to have the child, rocking herself backwards and forwards in her chair, with her face buried in her hands, and sobbing audibly. Milly exclaimed in terror, “Oh, la! my lady, whatever is the matter? My dear young lady, my sweet Miss Lucy, what has happened? Do speak, my dear Miss Lucy! what has happened to any of the dear family?” “Milly, I am miserable! I am the most miserable wretch in the world!” “Oh! my lady, don’t say so! I can’t bear to hear you talk in that way!” “Did I not give him my first affections? Have I not been as truly devoted to him, as if he had loved me with the fervour of youth? Did I not yield to all his old bachelor fancies? I ask you, Milly, could I have nursed him with more tenderness, if he had been as dear to me as John was to you? And he was almost as dear; yes, it was with my whole heart that I gave myself up to my attendance upon him. And what do you think has been the return I have met with? That he should prefer to me a mistress! a horrible, wicked, abandoned woman, whose very vice constitutes her charm!” “Sure, sure, my lady, somebody has told you false tales. This can never be true.”