every whim indulged; admired and caressed wherever she went; fond of her
generous husband; rich in a noble allowance of pin-money; with no poor
relations to worry her with claims upon her purse or patronage; it would
have been hard to find in the County of Essex a more fortunate creature
than Lucy, Lady Audley.

The two young men loitered over the dinner-table in the private
sitting-room at the Sun Inn. The windows were thrown wide open, and the
fresh country air blew in upon them as they dined. The weather was
lovely; the foliage of the woods touched here and there with faint
gleams of the earliest tints of autumn; the yellow corn still standing
in some of the fields, in others just falling under the shining sickle;
while in the narrow lanes you met great wagons drawn by broad-chested
cart-horses, carrying home the rich golden store. To any one who has
been, during the hot summer months, pent up in London, there is in the
first taste of rustic life a kind of sensuous rapture scarcely to be
described. George Talboys felt this, and in this he experienced the
nearest approach to enjoyment that he had ever known since his wife's
death.

The clock struck five as they finished dinner.

"Put on your hat, George," said Robert Audley; "they don't dine at the
Court till seven; we shall have time to stroll down and see the old
place and its inhabitants."

The landlord, who had come into the room with a bottle of wine, looked
up as the young man spoke.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Audley," he said, "but if you want to see your