Lucy looked up at this additional feature in her aunt's affection.
“You must go to the great bear's den for three months, but it shall be the last time!” Lucy said nothing.
“You will return never to quit us, or, at all events, not the neighborhood.”
“That—would be nice,” said the courtier warmly, but hesitatingly; “but how will you gain uncle's consent?”
“By dispensing with it.”
“Yes; but the means, aunt?”
“A husband!”
Lucy started and colored all over, and looked askant at her aunt with opening eyes, like a thoroughbred filly just going to start all across the road. Mrs. Bazalgette laid a loving hand on her shoulder, and whispered knowingly in her ear: “Trust to me; I'll have one ready for you against you come back this time.”
“No, please don't! pray don't!” cried Lucy, clasping her hands in feeble-minded distress.
“In this neighborhood—one of the right sort.”