It was unnecessary. Although she had been virtually in her aunt’s charge since her childhood only fifteen years separated them, and the bonds of affection between them were strong. Miss Tresilian knew that her niece was neither volatile nor impressionable. She had been much courted in Bath, but none of her suitors, before the arrival on the scene of Mr Rosely, had done so much as turn her head. But she had fallen in love with Mr Rosely at first sight, and not for the sake of his handsome face. ‘Handsome?’ said Lucy. ‘I suppose he is—oh, yes, of course he is! Everyone says so! But, to own the truth, I don’t in general care about fair men, and try as I will I cannot admire Grecian profiles!’ She added, such a glow in her eyes as Miss Tresilian had never before seen: ‘His nature is by far more beautiful than his countenance. He has so much sensibility—such quickness of apprehension! It is as though we had known each other all our lives. Oh, my dearest aunt, I never dreamed I could be so happy!’

No, Lucy was not likely to fall out of love, nor was it possible to suppose her to be infatuated. She seemed to be aware of the flaw in his character, for when her aunt ventured to suggest that his amiability perhaps made him a trifle too persuadable she replied without hesitation: ‘Exactly so! I don’t mean to say that he could be persuaded to do wrong, for his principles are fixed; but his nature is gentle, and his diffidence leads him to rely more on another’s judgment than his own. That is one reason why I can’t and won’t wait for nearly four years before marrying him!’

‘Lucy dear, could you be happy with a husband who would allow you to rule the roost?’

‘To own the truth,’ replied Lucy mischievously, ‘I have a strong notion that I couldn’t be happy with any other!