Richard looked on at Lucy’s little triumph, attributing Adrian’s subjugation to her beauty and sweetness. She had latterly received a great many compliments on that score, which she did not care to hear, and Adrian’s homage to a practical quality was far pleasanter to the young wife, who shrewdly guessed that her beauty would not help her much in the struggle she had now to maintain. Adrian continuing to lecture on the excelling virtues of wise cookery, a thought struck her: Where, where had she tossed Mrs. Berry’s book? “So that’s all about the home-people?” said Richard. “All!” replied Adrian. “Or stay: you know Clare’s going to be married? Not? Your Aunt Helen”— “Oh, bother my Aunt Helen! What do you think she had the impertinence to write—but never mind! Is it to Ralph?” “Your Aunt Helen, I was going to say, my dear boy, is an extraordinary woman. It was from her originally that the Pilgrim first learnt to call the female the practical animal. He studies us all, you know. The Pilgrim’s Scrip is the abstract portraiture of his surrounding relatives. Well, your Aunt Helen”— “Mrs. Doria Battledoria!” laughed Richard. “—being foiled in a little pet scheme of her own—call it a System if you like—of some ten or fifteen years’ standing, with regard to Miss Clare!”— “The fair Shuttlecockiana!” “—instead of fretting like a man, and questioning Providence, and turning herself and everybody else inside out, and seeing the world upside down, what does the practical animal do? She wanted to marry her to somebody she couldn’t marry her to, so she resolved instantly to marry her to somebody she could marry her to: and as old gentlemen enter into these transactions with the practical animal the most readily, she fixed upon an old gentleman; an unmarried old gentleman, a rich old gentleman, and now a captive old gentleman. The ceremony takes place in about a week from the present time. No doubt you will receive your invitation in a day or two.” “And that cold, icy, wretched Clare has consented to marry an old man!” groaned Richard. “I’ll put a stop to that when I go to town.” Richard got up and strode about the room. Then he bethought him it was time to go on board and make preparations. “I’m off,” he said. “Adrian, you’ll take her. She goes in the Empress, Mountfalcon’s vessel. He starts us. A little schooner-yacht—such a beauty! I’ll have one like her some day. Good-bye, darling!” he whispered to Lucy, and his hand and eyes lingered on her, and hers on him, seeking to make up for the priceless kiss they were debarred from. But she quickly looked away from him as he held her:—Adrian stood silent: his brows were up, and his mouth dubiously contracted. He spoke at last. “Go on the water?” “Yes. It’s only to St. Helen’s. Short and sharp.” “Do you grudge me the nourishment my poor system has just received, my son?” “Oh, bother your system! Put on your hat, and come along. I’ll put you on board in my boat.”