Capt. Barold was a very striking-looking man, upon the whole. He was
large, gracefully built, and fair: his eyes were gray, and noticeable for
the coldness of their expression, his features regular and aquiline, his
movements leisurely.

As he conversed with her grandmother, Lucia wondered at him privately. It
seemed to her innocent mind that he had been everywhere, and seen every
thing and everybody, without caring for or enjoying his privileges. The
truth was, that he had seen and experienced a great deal too much. As an
only child, the heir to a large property, and heir prospective to one of
the oldest titles in the country, he had exhausted life early. He saw in
Lady Theobald, not the imposing head and social front of Slowbridge
social life, the power who rewarded with approval and punished with a
frown, but a tiresome, pretentious old woman, whom his mother had asked
him, for some feminine reason, to visit. "She feels she has a claim upon
us, Francis," she had said appealingly.

"Well," he had remarked, "that is rather deuced cool, isn't it? We have
people enough on our hands without cultivating Slowbridge, you know."

His mother sighed faintly.

"It is true we have a great many people to consider; but I wish you would
do it, my dear."

She did not say any thing at all about Lucia: above all, she did not
mention that a year ago she herself had spent two or three days at
Slowbridge, and had been charmed beyond measure by the girl's innocent
freshness, and that she had said, rather absently, to Lady Theobald,--