As for Lucian and his charming hostess, they found that they had so many tastes in common, and enjoyed each other's society so much, that they were hardly ever apart. Diana saw with the keen eyes of a woman that Lucian was in love with her, and let it be seen in a marvellously short space of time, and without much difficulty, that she was in love with him.
But even after Lucian had been at the manor a fortnight, and daily in the society of Diana, he spoke no word of love. Seeing how beautiful she was, and how dowered with lands and rents and horses, he began to ask himself whether it was not rather a presumption on his part to ask her to share his life. He had only three hundred a year—six pounds a week—and a profession in which, as yet, he had not succeeded; so he could offer her very little in exchange for her beauty, wealth, and position.
The poor lover became quite pale with fruitless longing, and his spirits fell so low that good Miss Priscilla one day drew him aside to ask about his health.
"For," said she, "if you are ill in body, Mr. Denzil, I know of some remedies—old woman's medicines you will call them, no doubt—which, with the blessing of God, may do you good."
"Thank you, Miss Barbar, but I am not ill in body—worse luck!" and Lucian sighed.
"Why worse luck, Mr. Denzil?" said the old lady severely. "That is an ungrateful speech to Providence."
"I would rather be ill in body than ill in mind," explained Denzil, blushing, for in some ways he was younger than his years.
"And are you ill in mind?" asked Miss Priscilla, with a twinkle in her eyes.
"Alas! yes. Can you cure me?"