After that day, Paris became quite a different place to Lucia. Maurice was with them most of every day, and every day they saw something new, or made some little country excursion. The weather, though still rather cold, was fine and bright; winter had fairly given place to spring, and all externally was so gay, sunny and hopeful, that it was quite impossible to give way either to sad recollections of the past, or to melancholy thoughts of the future.

Mrs. Costello's health seemed steadily, though slowly improving; she had now no anxiety, except that one shadowy doubt of Lucia's decision with regard to Maurice, and that she was glad to leave for the present in uncertainty. She felt no hesitation in letting the two young people go where they would together; they had always been like brother and sister, and, at the worst, they would still be that.

When this pleasant life had lasted about ten days, Maurice came in one morning and said,

"What do you say to a visitor to-day, Lucia?"

Lucia looked up eagerly with clasped hands,

"Who?" she cried. "Not your cousin?"

"Why not?"

"Oh, Maurice! I am afraid of her—I am indeed. I am sure she is a grande dame, and will annihilate me."

"Silly child! She is a tiny woman, with a fair little face and not a bit of grandeur about her. You yourself will look like a queen beside her."

"She is your very good friend, is not she?"

"Indeed she is. Promise me to try to like her."

"Of course, I will try. Is she really coming here?"

"She wishes to call this afternoon."

Lucia looked round the room. It was nice enough, and pretty in its way with its mirrors, gilt ornaments, and imposing clock on the mantelpiece; but it was so small! Three people quite filled it up. But she finished her survey with a laugh.

"If they would only let us have less furniture!" she said. "It was all very well as long as we had nothing better than tables and chairs to fill up the room with; but at present—"

She finished her sentence with a little shrug, in imitation of Claudine, which made Maurice laugh also. He proceeded, however, to warn her that worse was in reserve.

"Louisa will come alone, to-day," he said, "because I told her Mrs. Costello was an invalid, but you must expect that next time she will bring her husband, and Sir John is no small person I assure you."

"When did they arrive?"

"Last night."

"How long will they stay, do you think?"

"Two or three weeks I imagine, but I know nothing positively of their plans."

"And Maurice, tell me when you must go back to England? I do not want our pleasant life to end just as suddenly as it began."

"Nor do I. I am not going just yet."

"But have not you quantities of affairs to attend to, you important person?"

"My most serious affair at present is in Paris. Don't be afraid, I am not forgetting my duties."

"Then we cannot go out to-day?"

"Put on your bonnet and come now for a walk."

"I must ask mamma, and tell her your news. She is late this morning."

Mrs. Costello had risen late since she came to Paris. Lucia found her dressed and discussing some household affair with Claudine.

"Only think, mamma," she began. "Lady Dighton came over yesterday and is coming to see you to-day."

But the news was no surprise to Mrs. Costello, who had received a hint from Maurice that he wished to see his cousin and Lucia friends, before he ventured on that decisive question to which they all, except Lucia, were looking forward so anxiously. But she was keenly alive to the desire that her child should make a favourable impression on this lady, who had evidently some influence with Maurice, and who, if the wished-for marriage took place, would become Lucia's near relative and neighbour. She said nothing at all about this, however, and was perfectly content that the young people should take one of those long walks which brought such a lovely colour into her daughter's pale cheeks, and so gave the last perfecting touch to her beauty.

Maurice left Lucia at the door, and went back to the hotel where he had promised Lady Dighton to lunch with her. She was waiting for him, looking more than usually fair and pretty in the mourning she wore for her grandfather. He could not help thinking, as he came in, how rich and handsome everything about her seemed, in contrast to the bare simplicity of his poorer friends—yet certainly nature had intended Lucia for a much more stately and magnificent person than this little lady.

"Well?" she said smiling. "Have you persuaded your friends to receive me? I can assure you my curiosity has nearly overpowered me this morning."

"You will be disappointed, of course. You are imagining a heroine, and you will see only a young country girl."

"For shame, Maurice! If I am imagining a heroine, I wonder whose fault it is?"

"I wish you would not form your judgment for a week. You are enough of a fine lady, Louisa, to be a little affected by externals, and my pearl has no fine setting at present; it will need looking at closely to find out its value."

"And you think, oh most philosophical of lovers! that I am not capable of distinguishing a real pearl unless it is set in gold, and has its price ticketed?"

"I think, at least, that I am so anxious to see you the same kind friend to her as you have been to me, that I am troubling myself uselessly about the first impressions."

"On both sides? Well, trust me, Maurice I will like your Lucia for your sake, and try to make her like me."

"Thank you; I know you will. And after the first, you will not be able to help loving her."

"Sir John is not to go with us?"

"Not unless you particularly wish it. Where is he?"

"Gone out shopping. Don't laugh. I suspect his shopping is of a different kind to mine, and quite as expensive."

"Can anything be as expensive as the charming bonnets I heard you talking of this morning?"

"Take care. Only hint that I am extravagant, and I will devote myself to corrupting Lucia, and avenge myself by making your pocket suffer."

"I wish my pocket had anything to do with it. Pray be careful, Louisa, and remember that I have not dared to speak to her yet."

"I shall remember. Come to lunch now. Sir John will not be in."

Maurice tried in vain to talk as they drove slowly along to Mrs. Costello's. The street was full of people, and Lady Dighton amused herself by looking out for acquaintances, and saluting those they met. A good many English were in Paris; and she had also a pretty large circle of French people with whom she was on friendly terms; so that she had quite enough occupation to prevent her noticing her cousin's silence. But the moment the carriage stopped, she was ready to give her whole attention to him and his affairs; she gave him a little nod and smile full of sympathy as she went up the staircase, and the moment Claudine opened the door he perceived that he might leave everything in her hands with the most perfect confidence in her management.

There had been a little flutter of expectation in Lucia's mind for the last half-hour, in which she wondered her mother did not express more sympathy; and when, at last, the door opened, she was seized with a sudden tremor, and for an instant felt herself deaf and blind. The moment passed, however, and there came sweeping softly into the room a little figure with golden hair and widely flowing draperies; a fair face with a pleasant smile, and a clear musical voice; these were the things that first impressed her as belonging to Maurice's formidable cousin.

Lady Dighton's first words were of course addressed to Mrs. Costello—they seemed to Lucia to be a plea for a welcome, as Maurice's near relation—and then the two young women stood face to face and exchanged one quick glance. Lady Dighton held out her hand.

"Miss Costello," she said, "you and I are so totally unlike each other, that I am certain we were meant to be friends—will you try?"

The suddenness and oddity of the address struck Lucia dumb. She gave her hand, however, to her new friend with a smile, and as she did so, her eye caught the reflection of their two figures in a glass opposite.

Truly, they were unlike each other—very opposites—but either because, or in spite of the difference, they seemed to suit each other.

Half an hour spent in calling upon or receiving a call from an entire stranger, is generally a very heavy tax on one's good humour; but occasionally, when the visit is clearly the beginning of a pleasant acquaintance—perhaps a valuable friendship—things are entirely different. Lady Dighton had come with the intention of making herself agreeable, and few people knew better how to do it; but she found no effort necessary, and time slipped away more quickly than she thought possible. She stayed, in fact, until she felt quite sure her husband would have been waiting so long as to be growing uneasy, and when she did get up to go away, she begged Mrs. Costello and Lucia to dine with her next day.

"And Maurice," she said, "you must persuade Miss Costello to join us in an excursion somewhere. It is quite the weather for long drives, and our holiday will not be very long, you know."

"I am entirely at your command," Maurice said, "and Lucia must do as she is bid, so pray settle your plans with Mrs. Costello."

But Mrs. Costello said decidedly that to dine out for herself was out of the question—she had not done so for years.

"Oh! I am so sorry," Lady Dighton said. "But of course we must not ask you in that case—Miss Costello may come to us, may she not? I will take good care of her."

Lucia had many scruples about leaving her mother; but, however, it was finally settled that the Dightons should call for her next day—that they should have a long drive to some place not yet fixed upon—and that she should afterwards spend the evening with them.

Mrs. Costello was pleased that her child should go out a little after her long seclusion from all society; and the whole plan was arranged with little reference to Lucia, who vainly tried to avoid this long absence from her mother.

The two cousins were scarcely on their road when Lady Dighton asked—

"Well, Maurice, am I to reserve my opinion?"

"As you please," he answered smiling. "I am sure it is not very unfavourable."

"She is wonderfully beautiful; and, what is most strange, she knows it without being vain."

"Vain? I should think she was not!"

"What grace she has! With her small head and magnificent hair and eyes, she would have had quite beauty enough for one girl without being so erect and stately. You never gave me the idea that she was so excessively handsome, Maurice."

"Is she? I don't believe I knew it. You see I have known her all her life—I know every one of her qualities, I believe, good and bad; and all her ways. I knew she had the purest nature and the warmest, bravest heart a woman could have; but I have thought very little about her beauty by itself."

"Well, then, let me tell you, she only needs to be seen—she is quite lovely; and as for the rest, I do not know yet, but I am very much inclined to think you may be right. At all events, we are going to be good friends, and by-and-by I shall know all about her."