Was she happy in the midst of her splendour? Her husband exceedingly attentive, and the most agreeable society collected around her. No: she was bored—from morning till night, constantly suffering from ennui. She was grateful for her husband’s attentions, but they invariably prevented her doing the thing she wished to do; and she sometimes wondered how so many little chubby children were running about the village in health and safety, who were not heirs to titles and properties. The society of her husband’s friends did not amuse her; they were all the intimates of one clique; and, notwithstanding their habitual good-breeding, she could not help often being unable to understand, or, at all events, to join in their conversation. A slight tone of persiflage and of quizzing in their mode of treating all subjects, also made her feel less at her ease, than she would otherwise have done after ten days’ residence under the same roof; and she often longed for a hearty laugh with Bell Stopford, a long scrambling walk with Emma and Mary, or a quiet chat with the dear, honest, affectionate Milly. Lucy occasionally suggested how glad she should be to see her parents; but the house was always filled with a succession of visitors. The Duke and Duchess of Altonworth announced their intention of taking Ashdale Park in their way to London, and Lord Montreville inadvertently exclaimed, “Whom shall we get to meet them, for this party disperses on Wednesday?” “Oh, then, now we can have papa and mamma, and Emma and Mary!—that will be nice!” Lord Montreville’s countenance fell—he looked blank and dismayed. Lucy saw she was wrong, but she could not imagine that papa and mamma were not fit company for any duke or duchess in the land; so she awaited the result, blank and dismayed in her turn, but wholly at a loss to guess what was the matter. Lord Montreville soon rallied. “I do not think that would quite do, my dear Lucy: a family party is always a dull thing, and the Duchess is very clever, and altogether——My dear Lucy, I am sure you perfectly understand me.” This time, however, Lucy could not and would not understand. “But it will not be a family party to the Duchess, and I am sure mamma is clever too: some people call her blue.” “Very true, my love; but the Duchess is clever and not blue, and she is a person who is very exclusive; she has retired habits, and does not like new acquaintances; and, in short, we must either get somebody whom she would decidedly like to meet, or we had better have nobody.” “But we are going to town in a fortnight, and mamma has not been here yet,” said Lucy with more pertinacity, and even humour, than she had ever yet shown. “We shall be here again at Easter, and in the summer certainly, and then you shall have them all, Emma and Mary, and your old friend Milly too, if you like it;” and Lord Montreville resolved he would do it once for all, well and thoroughly.