"You remember the story I told you—Lady Vaughan says I am to marry Adrian Darcy. I suppose he is a model of perfection—as quiet and as stupid as perfection always is."
"Lady Vaughan cannot force you to marry any one," he cried eagerly.
"No, there will be no forcing in the strict sense of the word—they will only preach to me, and talk at me, until I shall be driven mad, and I shall marry him, or do anything else in sheer desperation."
"Who is he, Hyacinth?" asked her young lover.
"His mother was a cousin of Lady Vaughan's. He is rich, clever, and I should certainly say, as quiet and uninteresting as nearly all the rest of the world. If it were not so, he would not have been reserved for me."
"I do not quite understand," said Claude Lennox. "How it is? Was there a contract between your parents?"
"No," she replied, with a slight tone of scorn in her voice—"there is never anything of that kind except in novels. I am Lady Vaughan's granddaughter, and she has a large fortune to leave; this Adrian Darcy is also her relative, and she says the best thing to be done for us is to marry each other, and then her fortune can come to us."
"Is that all?" he inquired, with a look of great relief. "You need not marry him unless you choose. Have you seen him?"
"No; nor do I wish to see him. Any one whom Lady Vaughan likes cannot possibly suit me. Oh, Claude, how I dread it all!—even the journey to Germany."
"I should have fancied that, longing as you do for change and excitement, the journey would have pleased you," observed Claude.