“I think so; all at least that was worth telling.” “You had a shipwreck on your island, we heard here; are such events so frequent that they make slight impression?” “I was but speaking of ourselves and our fortunes,” said Lucy; “my narrative was all selfish.” “Come,--I never beat about the bush,--tell me one thing,--it's a very abrupt way to ask, but perhaps it's the best way,--are you going to be married?” “I don't know,” said she; and her face and neck became crimson in a moment. “You don't know! Do you mean that you 're like one of those young ladies in the foreign convents who are sent for to accept a husband whenever the papas and mammas have agreed upon the terms?” “Not that; but I mean that I am not sure whether grandpapa will give his consent, and without it papa will not either.” “And why should not grandpapa say yes? Major Traf-ford,--we need n't talk riddles to each other,--Major Trafford has a good position, a good name, and will have a good estate; are not these the three gifts the mothers of England go in pursuit of?” “His family, I suspect, wish him to look higher; at all events, they don't like the idea of an Irish daughter-in-law.” “More fools they! Irish women of the better class are more ready to respond to good treatment, and less given to resent bad usage, than any I ever met.” “Then I have just heard since I came over that Lady Trafford has written to grandpapa in a tone of such condescension and gentle sorrow that it has driven him half crazy. Indeed, his continual inference from the letter is, 'What must the son of such a woman be!'” “That's most unfair!” “So they have all told him,--papa, and Beattie, and even Mr. Haire, who met Lionel one morning at Beattie's.” “Perhaps I might be of service here; what a blush, child! dear me, you are crimson, far too deep for beauty. How I have fluttered the dear little bird! but I 'm not going to rob its nest, or steal its mate away. All I meant was, that I could exactly contribute that sort of worldly testimony to the goodness of the match that old people like and ask for. You must never talk to them about affections, nor so much as allude to tastes or tempers; never expatiate on anything that cannot be communicated by parchment, and attested by proper witnesses. Whatever is not subject to stamp-duty, they set down as mere moonshine.” While she thus ran on, Lucy's thoughts never strayed from a certain letter which had once thrown a dark shadow over her, and even yet left a gloomy memory behind it. The rapidity with which Mrs. Sewell spoke, too, had less the air of one carried away by the strong current of feeling than of a speaker who was uttering everything, anything, to relieve her own overburdened mind. “You look very grave, Lucy,” went she on. “I suspect I know what's passing in that little brain. You are doubting if I should be the fittest person to employ on the negotiation; come, now, confess it.” “You have guessed aright,” said Lucy, gravely.