“If there is one parti more desirable than another in the whole county, it is Lord Garle,” resumed Lady Verner.  “The eldest son of the Earl of Elmsley, his position naturally renders him so; but had he neither rank nor wealth, he would not be much less desirable.  His looks are prepossessing; his qualities of head and heart are admirable; he enjoys the respect of all.  Not a young lady for miles round but—­I will use a vulgar phrase, Sir Henry, but it is expressive of the facts—­would jump at him.  Lucy refused him.”

“Indeed,” replied Sir Henry, gazing at Lucy’s glowing face, at the smile that hovered round her lips.

Lady Verner resumed—­

“She refused him in the most decidedly positive manner that you can imagine.  She has refused also one or two others.  They were not so desirable in position as Lord Garle; but they were very well.  And her motive I never have been able to get at.  It has vexed me much.  I have pointed out to her that when ever you returned home, you might think I had been neglectful of her interests.”

“No, no,” replied Sir Henry, “I could not fancy coming home to find Lucy married.  I should not have liked it.  She would have seemed to be gone from me.”

“But she must marry some time, and the years are going on,” returned Lady Verner.

“Yes, I suppose she must.”

“At least, I should say she would, were it anybody but Lucy,” rejoined Lady Verner, qualifying her words.  “After the refusal of Lord Garle, one does not know what to think.  You will see him and judge for yourself.”

“What was the motive of the refusal, Lucy?” inquired Sir Henry.

He spoke with a smile, in a gay, careless tone; but Lucy appeared to take the question in a serious light.  Her eyelids drooped, her whole face became scarlet, her demeanour almost agitated.

“I did not care to marry, papa,” she answered in a low tone.  “I did not care for Lord Garle.”

“One grievous fear has been upon me ever since, haunting my rest at night, disturbing my peace by day,” resumed Lady Verner.  “I must speak of it to you, Sir Henry.  Absurd as the notion really is, and as at times it appears to me that it must be, still it does intrude, and I should scarcely be acting an honourable part by you to conceal it, sad as the calamity would be.”

Lucy looked up in surprise.  Sir Henry in a sort of puzzled wonder.

“When she refused Lord Garle, whom she acknowledged she liked, and forbade him to entertain any future hope whatever, I naturally began to look about me for the cause.  I could only come to one conclusion, I am sorry to say—­that she cared too much for another.”

Lucy sat in an agony; the scarlet of her face changing to whiteness.