n to me. Lucy is a dear friend of mine, and I know
all about everything. You are a disgrace to your name, sir."

"Why, what have I done?" I asked, amazed at the sternness she had
suddenly thrown into her voice. And she burst into a ripple of
laughter.

"I do think you are the stupidest man alive," she said. "Is not
your name Bold, and are you not timid, and backward, and humble,
and despondent, and a great big baby! Why, Lucy thinks the world of
you; she is never tired of hearing that red-haired man Punchard
talk of you; and yet you are glum, and scowl at her, and glower at
the men who are cheerful and try to amuse her, and whom she doesn't
care a button for. Oh, Mr. Bold, 'tis you who ought to change your
name, for to be sure you will never persuade her to change hers."

"But Dick Cludde!" I stammered, taken aback by this plain speaking.

"Is going to dance with me, sir," she said, springing up as, the
dance being over, Dick came to claim her for the next.

I wandered into the governor's beautiful garden, and, pacing up and
down, pondered what the lively Lucetta had said. Was it true that
Lucy did not care a button for the men who courted her so
assiduously? Was Lucetta seeking to make a fool of me? Did Lucy's
apparent indifference mask another feeling? My thoughts made a
flying circle of perplexity and I could not anywise come at a
resolution.

And then I remembered again how far above me Lucy was in worldly
position, and how I had nothing, barring a few hundred pounds of
prize money and my paltry eighty pounds (or less) a year. What had
I to offer her? And besides this, I felt a scruple (even supposing
my chances were not hopeless), against seeking to engage her while
she was so far from the relatives whose advice she would naturally
seek. 'Twould savor much of fortune hunting, I thought, if I sought
her hand so close upon her coming of age.

The upshot of my meditations was that I must cleave to my former
resolve, and wait at least until I should have been promoted to
captain's rank, and then seek her at her uncle's house and put my
fate to the hazard.

Whether my resolution would have survived a dance with her I know
not. When I went back to the hall to claim her I found I was too
late: she was dancing with a young popinjay of Collingwood's
regiment. I watched them gloomily, in high dudgeons, though 'twas
my own fault, and I did not even get an opportunity of bidding her
farewell.

Next day ('twas the