Lucian decorously suppressed his eagerness to comply by looking at
his watch and pretending to consider his engagements. In conclusion,
he said that he should be happy to accompany her.

It was a fine summer afternoon, and there were many people in the
park. Lucian was soon incommoded by the attention his cousin
attracted. In spite of the black beaver, her hair shone like fire in
the sun. Women stared at her with unsympathetic curiosity, and
turned as they passed to examine her attire. Men resorted to various
subterfuges to get a satisfactory look without rudely betraying
their intention. A few stupid youths gaped; and a few impudent ones
smiled. Lucian would gladly have kicked them all, without
distinction. He at last suggested that they should leave the path,
and make a short cut across the green-sward. As they emerged from
the shade of the trees he had a vague impression that the fineness
of the weather and the beauty of the park made the occasion
romantic, and that the words by which he hoped to make the relation
between him and his cousin dearer and closer would be well spoken
there. But he immediately began to talk, in spite of himself, about
the cost of maintaining the public parks, of the particulars of
which he happened to have some official knowledge. Lydia, readily
interested by facts of any sort, thought the subject not a bad one
for a casual afternoon conversation, and pursued it until they left
the turf and got into the Euston Road, where the bustle of traffic
silenced them for a while. When they escaped from the din into the
respectable quietude of Gower Street, he suddenly said,

"It is one of the evils of great wealth in the hands of a woman,
that she can hardly feel sure--" His ideas fled suddenly. He
stopped; but he kept his countenance so well that he had the air of