Lady Dighton looked at her cousin's face, which was indeed full of
excitement.

"What a good son you are, Maurice," she said slowly.

Maurice felt the blood rush to his very temples.

"I am a dreadful humbug," he said, feeling that the confession must
come. "Don't be shocked, Louisa; it is not altogether about my father,
but I tell you the truth when I say that I am half wild."

She smiled in a sort of satisfied, self-gratulatory way, and said,
"Well," which was just what was needed, and brought out all that Maurice
could tell about the Costellos. He said to himself afterwards that he
had from the first been half disposed to confess the whole story, and
only wanted to know how she was likely to take it; but the truth was
that, being as utterly unskilful as man could be in anything like
deception, he had placed himself in a dilemma from which she only meant
to let him extricate himself by telling her what was really in his mind.

So Lady Dighton made her first acquaintance with Lucia, not, as Maurice
had dreamed of her doing, in bodily presence, but through the golden
mist of a lover's description; in the midst of which she tried to see a
common-place rustic beauty, but could not quite succeed; and half
against her will began to yield to the illusion (if illusion it was)
which presented to her a queenly yet maidenly vision, a brilliant flower
which might be worth transplanting from the woods even to the stately
shelter of Hunsdon. It was clear enough that this girl, whatever she
might be, had too firm a hold upon Maurice's heart to be easily