room, or calculating "when that stupid music would be over."

Lord Mauleverer, though a polished and courteous man, whose great object
was necessarily to ingratiate himself with the father of his intended
bride, had a horror of being bored, which surpassed all other feelings in
his mind. He could not therefore persuade himself to submit to the
melancholy duty of listening to the squire's "linked speeches long drawn
out." He always glided by the honest man's station, seemingly in an
exceeding hurry, with a "Ah, my dear sir, how do you do? How delighted I
am to see you! And your incomparable daughter? Oh, there she is!
Pardon me, dear sir,--you see my attraction."

Lucy, indeed, who never forgot any one (except herself occasionally),
sought her father's retreat as often as she was able; but her engagements
were so incessant that she no sooner lost one partner than she was
claimed and carried off by another. However, the squire bore his
solitude with tolerable cheerfulness, and always declared that "he was
very well amused; although balls and concerts were necessarily a little
dull to one who came from a fine old place like Warlock Manor-house, and
it was not the same thing that pleased young ladies (for, to them, that
fiddling and giggling till two o'clock in the morning might be a very
pretty way of killing time) and their papas!"

What considerably added to Lucy's celebrity was the marked notice and
admiration of a man so high in rank and ton as Lord Mauleverer. That
personage, who still retained much of a youthful mind and temper, and who
was in his nature more careless than haughty, preserved little or no
state in his intercourse with the social revellers at Bath. He cared not
whither he went, so that he was in the train of the young beauty; and the
most fastidious nobleman of the English court was seen in every second