“But, Milly, he never pays me half as many compliments as other people do; and he never said a word like being in love with me; and he never spoke a word against Lord Montreville; and he never told me I was too young or too pretty for him—he never said any of the things I have been put on my guard against, as being the first advances of a man who wishes to flirt with a married woman; for I have sometimes watched to see whether he did, for fear he should be making love before I was aware.” “You know best, my lady; but I should think you would not have been on the look-out for it, if he had no such thing in his head.” “Why, Milly, you are as bad as all the rest of the world! But what shall I do? My husband says I must not go on as I have done; and then he has asked Mr. Delville to dinner to-morrow—and what can I do? What can I say? How am I to behave to him?” “Sure, my lady, just be civil and pleasant.” “That is all I have ever been, Milly! O dear! O dear! If I had but married some good young man who had loved me truly, and whom I could have loved and respected, as I would fain love and respect my husband, how easy it would have been to do my duty, if he had been ever so poor and humble!” “Now don’t you be fretting in this way, my lady. Some has one trial, and some another; and people always think their own trial the hardest to bear. I thought mine were very hard to bear; but in all my troubles I had one comfort—my duty always lay straight before me—I always knew what I ought to do, though ’twas a hard matter sometimes to do it without murmuring.” “I will not go to the ball to-night! Yet perhaps Mr. Delville may guess why—I had better go. By the by, this is the Duchess of Altonworth’s evening for being at home. I will go there. It will not seem so odd as not going out at all, and Mr. Delville is very seldom at her parties. Besides, I shall have an opportunity of asking the Duchess if she will receive me early to-morrow. She is good, kind, and judicious, and she knows the world well, too. I will tell her what an uncomfortable state I am in, and she will advise me.” Lord Montreville dined out at a political dinner, and they met no more in the course of the evening. To the Duchess of Altonworth’s Lucy went, filled with a desire to do what was right, but at the same time with a strong conviction of her own wrongs, and in consequence a feeling of martyrdom.