Lord Montreville had neither father, mother, brother, nor sister, to whom he need introduce his bride elect; and as all his cousins and other relatives were out of town at this season of the year, he lived entirely with his future family, without being called upon to introduce them to any of his own circle. This was precisely what he wished. Little did Lucy imagine, when, in the warmth of her heart, she was anticipating the kind things she would do to brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, and cousins, how little Lord Montreville intended to marry the whole family. Want of knowledge of the world, or rather of _l’usage du monde_, was _naïveté_ in the blooming youthful Lucy, but not so in the middle-aged parents, or the hoyden younger misses. Lord Montreville was not much of a politician; he was not a man of deep reading, though his mind was sufficiently cultivated to give grace, if not depth, to his observations: he was not witty, though he was often droll, and consequently it was on living people and passing events that his conversation chiefly turned. Any one who knows every one worth knowing, and can talk of them and their concerns with some tact, and not much ill-nature, is reckoned agreeable; but he felt that his _histoirettes_ lost half their piquancy from the ignorance of his audience respecting the persons alluded to. Though it had amused him to enchant the whole family, especially while he had an ulterior object in view,—that object once gained, he found their society insipid, and in London he became peculiarly sensible how inexpedient it would be to transplant them into his own circle. Mrs. Bentley, the eldest daughter, and the dear children of whom poor Lucy meant to see so much, were wholly out of the question. Country gentlefolks not of the first water of fashion (for the Heckfields were not vulgar—their dress, their house, their equipage were all perfectly presentable), are infinitely less objectionable to the very refined, than London gentility not of the first class. Mrs. Bentley was very rich, and her house in Upper Baker Street was a very good one, and she dressed in the extreme of the fashion; but she wanted the air _distingué_ which was natural to Lucy. Though handsome, she was inclined to be large and red, and withal, she was a little languishing, and she was especially languishing for Lord Montreville. She looked as strong as a horse, but she complained of nerves; she was a good woman, and loved her children, but she talked as if she could not bear to have them with her, and declared that their noise distracted her; and, in short, she took every possible pains to make herself appear as little amiable, and as unlike what she really was, as possible.