Of
course, she could understand a lady wishing to marry, if she loved a
gentleman who was determined to be unhappy without her; but that women
should look about for some hunter to catch instead of waiting quietly
till the hunter caught them, this puzzled her; and as for the
superstitious love of females for the marriage rite in cases when it
took away their liberty and gave them nothing amiable in return, it
amazed her. "So, aunt," she concluded, "if you really love me, driving
me to the altar will be an unfortunate way of showing it."
While listening to this tirade, which the young lady delivered with
great serenity, and concluded with a little yawn, Mrs. Bazalgette had
two thoughts. The first was: "This girl is not flesh and blood; she is
made of curds and whey, or something else;" the second was: "No, she
is a shade hypocriticaler than other girls--before they are married,
that is all;" and, acting on this latter conviction, she smiled a
lofty incredulity, and fell to counting on her fingers all the moneyed
bachelors for miles.
At this Lucy winced with sensitive modesty, and for once a shade of
vexation showed itself on her lovely features. The quick-sighted,
keen-witted matron caught it, and instantly made a masterly move of
feigned retreat. "No," cried she, "I will not tease you anymore, love;
just promise me not to receive any gentleman's addresses at Font
Abbey, and I will never drive you from my arms to the altar."
"I promise that," cried Lucy, eagerly.
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