'
The Baronet looked puzzled. He did not for a moment suspect himself to
be the hero; yet, although their mutual confidence was illimitable, he
did not exactly see why, in the present instance, there had been
such urgency to impart an event not altogether either unnatural or
miraculous.
'In love!' said Sir Lucius; 'a very proper situation for the prettiest
woman in London. Everybody is in love with you; and I heartily rejoice
that some one of our favoured sex is about to avenge our sufferings.'
'_Point de moquerie_, Lucy! I am miserable.'
'Dear little pigeon, what is the matter?'
'Ah, me!'
'Speak,-speak,' said he, in a gay tone; 'you were not made for sighs,
but smiles. Begin----'
'Well, then, the young Duke----'
'The deuce!' said Sir Lucius, alarmed.
'Oh! no! make yourself easy,' said Mrs. Dallington, smiling; 'no
counterplot, I assure you, although really you do not deserve to
succeed.'
'Then who is it?' eagerly asked Sir Lucius.
'You will not let me speak. The young Duke----'
'Damn the Duke!'
'How impatient you are, Lucy! I must begin with the beginning. Well, the
young Duke has something to do with it.
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