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"She shall look as smart as she can be made[Pg 95] to look, sir," answered Mr Lawrence. "Permit me to conduct you on board, madam." "You are quite right," said Captain Weaver. "Guns would only be in our way, and sarve to check the beauty, which we don't want." "How standing?" bawled Weaver..

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Miss Lucy Acton sat with her eyes veiled by downcast lids fixed in a stare as lifeless as the dead upon her hands, which lay clasped in her lap. So motionless was she, you would have said she slept. Much of the lovely bloom that always gave to her lineaments a choice sweetness was absent, but not the less[Pg 281] did as much of her face as was visible express its refined and delicate beauty. She was twenty-three years of age, and it will be readily supposed had been sought in marriage by more than one ardent swain. But she had kept her heart whole: nothing in breeches and stockings and long cut-away coat and salutations adopted from the most approved Parisian styles had touched the passions of Lucy Acton. She was like Emma as painted by Miss Austen: she loved her home, she adored her father, she was perfectly well satisfied with her present state of being, she could not conceive anything in a man that was worth marrying for, and being well, she meant to leave well alone. Mrs. Keeler, who was doing her best to catch what her neighbor was saying, lifted her head as the two wet and tired boys entered the room. CHAPTER XII OLD HARRY MAKES A FIND.