"Lucia is neither a Theobald nor a Barold," she had been heard to say
once, and she had said it with much rigor.
A subject of much conversation in private circles had been Lucia's
future. It had been discussed in whispers since her seventeenth year, but
no one had seemed to approach any solution of the difficulty. Upon the
subject of her plans for her granddaughter, Lady Theobald had preserved
stern silence. Once, and once only, she had allowed herself to be
betrayed into the expression of a sentiment connected with the matter.
"If Miss Lucia marries"--a matron of reckless proclivities had remarked.
Lady Theobald turned upon her, slowly and majestically.
"_If_ Miss Gaston marries," she repeated. "Does it seem likely that Miss
Gaston will _not_ marry?"
This settled the matter finally. Lucia was to be married when Lady
Theobald thought fit. So far, however, she had not thought fit: indeed,
there had been nobody for Lucia to marry,--nobody whom her grandmother
would have allowed her to marry, at least.
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