Blanche could not fail to perceive that Lord Glenrith was serious in his attentions: it was impossible to dislike him; he was an honest, genuine creature; he loved her sincerely, admired her, and respected her;--he was not wanting in sense or information. Had not her mind been prepossessed, she would most likely have been in love with him; at least, ninety-nine girls in a hundred would have been so, and ought to have been so. He proposed: her parents were delighted; she was sorry, although she preferred him to any one else, except Captain De Molton. Yet, what nonsense to allow her imagination to dwell upon a person who cared not for her! Should she refuse an excellent man who was sincerely attached to her--a connection with whom would delight her own parents, and his parents, and all their mutual connections, for the sake of a penniless captain who cut her--positively cut her? It would be the height of folly; there would be a want of pride in continuing to pine for an indifferent swain. So, as she had no good reason to adduce either to herself, or to others, for saying "No," she said "Yes," and she was engaged. This great event took place a few days before the Falkingham family paid a long-promised visit to the Westhopes. Lord Glenrith was to have joined the party at the end of the week; but, as the accepted lover, he obtained leave to accompany them to Cransley. His sterling worth gained upon Blanche every day; there was something so English, so true, so generous about him. Her parents were quite delighted with his sentiments upon all subjects connected with settlements. She heard him praised from morning till night, and she was beginning to persuade herself that she ought to be, and that she was, exceedingly happy, when they arrived at Cransley. The sight of Lady Westhope reminded her of Paris, and of all she had felt when there; and she was shocked to find she still retained such vivid recollections of incidents the most trivial in themselves. Mr. Wroxholme had arrived the day before, and at dinner Lord Westhope remarked, "We shall be quite the old Paris party on Friday, when De Molton comes." Lady Blanche was listening to Lord Glenrith's description of his father's place, Wentnor Castle; but she was not so absorbed in the subject, but that these words caught her ear. She gave an involuntary start; she felt Lady Westhope look at her; she felt herself colour. But her start and her blush were unobserved: Lord Glenrith was completely occupied in explaining how the seclusion of the south and west fronts of the castle, and of the broad terrace overlooking the rapid stream of the Dwent, was preserved by the alteration in the road, which now approached the gateway from the north-east, instead of the north-west.