Lucy was disposed to think more highly of the object of her conquest.
"Is it he that has been frightening you, Lucy?"
"No, no, Richard; oh, dear no!" she cried, and looked at him more tenderly because she was not quite truthful.
"He doesn't know my father at all," said Richard. But Lucy had another opinion of the wise youth, and secretly maintained it. She could not be won to imagine the baronet a man of human mould, generous, forgiving, full of passionate love at heart, as Richard tried to picture him, and thought him, now that he beheld him again through Adrian's embassy. To her he was that awful figure, shrouded by the midnight. "Why are you so harsh?" she had heard Richard cry more than once. She was sure that Adrian must be right.
"Well, I tell you I won't go without you," said Richard, and Lucy begged for a little more time.
Cupid now began to grumble, and with cause. Adrian positively refused to go on the water unless that element were smooth as a plate. The South- west still joked boisterously at any comparison of the sort; the days were magnificent; Richard had yachting engagements; and Lucy always petitioned to stay to keep Adrian company, concerning it her duty as hostess. Arguing with Adrian was an absurd idea. If Richard hinted at his retaining Lucy, the wise youth would remark: "It's a wholesome interlude to your extremely Cupidinous behaviour, my dear boy."
Richard asked his wife what they could possibly find to talk about.
"All manner of things," said Lucy; "not only cookery. He is so amusing, though he does make fun of The Pilgrim's Scrip, and I think he ought not. And then, do you know, darling—you won't think me vain?—I think he is beginning to like me a little."
Richard laughed at the humble mind of his Beauty.
"Doesn't everybody like you, admire you? Doesn't Lord Mountfalcon, and
Mr. Morton, and Lady Judith?"