“For a few moments you must listen to me!” &c. &c. &c. Suffice it to say, Lord Montreville then proposed. The words of a proposal are horridly stupid to the ears of all but the parties concerned; and in what precise terms Lord Montreville couched the offer of his hand, heart, fortune, and titles, has remained, and will ever remain, unknown. A terrified “O dear!” uttered by Lucy when he began to unfold his mind, were the only words which escaped her lips. When he pressed for an answer, she did not say “No!” but she still walked on, her pace increasing every second, her close garden-bonnet well pulled over her face, which was rigidly directed on the gravel-walk before her, so that no one who was not immediately opposite had a chance of catching a glimpse of her countenance. Even Lord Montreville began to feel a little awkward. He had made love often enough, but he had proposed but once before; and that was in his early youth, to a very rich heiress, who had soon after married a duke. Fortunately for the nerves of both, they came upon Mrs. Heckfield at a turn in the walk. She saw with a glance that something decisive had taken place, and she hastened to relieve Lucy, and also to clench the matter. Lucy slipped her arm within Mrs. Heckfield’s, and feeling comparatively easy and secure, now she had interposed her mother between herself and her suitor, she walked on in silence, carefully contriving to make each step so exactly keep time, that the somewhat rounded form of the matron should completely eclipse the slender form of the girl. Lord Montreville explained himself in becoming and graceful terms; and Mrs. Heckfield, in a rapture of scarcely concealed joy, declared with what pleasure she should communicate Lord Montreville’s flattering declaration to Colonel Heckfield. “But, my dear Mrs. Heckfield, I have not yet been allowed to hope. Your daughter has not given me one word, one look of encouragement, and I need your kind influence to induce her——” “Lucy, my dear, you have not been so uncivil as to—My dear child, don’t be so silly. You must excuse her, my dear Lord Montreville, she is so young, and so little used to these agitating scenes. _I_ know what her feelings are, and although she is not at this moment able to speak for herself, I think I may answer for it you need not despair. Perhaps, if you were to leave her for a short time to compose herself, she would be more able to enjoy your society by dinner-time.”