be largely, almost wholly occupied by a new inmate, but she
was simply content that it should be so, without once considering the
subject.

One person, however, spent many bitter thoughts upon this recent change.
To Maurice Leigh every day had brought a more thorough knowledge of
Lucia's infatuation and of his own loss. He had loved her almost all his
life, and would love her faithfully now, and always; but he began to be
aware now, that he required more of her than the affection which he
could still claim; that he wanted her daily companionship; her sympathy
in all that interested him; her confidence with regard to all that
concerned herself. He wanted all this; but he could do without it: he
could love her and wait, if that were all. But what was hardest, nay,
almost unendurable, was the anticipation of her day of disenchantment,
when she must see the truth as he saw it now, and find herself thrown
aside to learn, in solitude and suffering, how blindly she had suffered
herself to be duped by a fair appearance. For, of course, Maurice was
unjust. Seeing Lucia daily as she grew up, he had no idea how much the
charm of her grace and beauty had influenced even him, and failed
utterly to estimate their effect upon others. He said to himself that
Mr. Percy was a mere selfish fop, who, tired of the amusements of Europe
and too effeminate for the hardier enjoyments of a new country, was
driven by mere emptiness of head to occupy himself with the pursuit of
the prettiest woman he met with.

Meanwhile Mr. Percy came and went, and found in his visits to the
Cottage an entirely new kind of distraction. It was strange to him to
find himself welcomed and valued, genuinely, if shyly, for his own sake.
He had known vulgar women, who had flattered him because he was the son
of an earl; and prudent ones who gave him but a carefully measured
civility, because he was a portionless younger son. Here he knew that
both facts were absolutely nothing; and egotist as he was, this
knowledge stirred most powerfully such depths as his nature possessed.
In Lucia's presence he became almost as unworldly as herself; he gave
himself up half willingly, half unconsciously to the enjoyment of
feelings which no woman less thoroughly simple and natural could have
awakened; but, it is true that when he left her he left also this
strange region of sensations--he returned precisely to his former self.

The only person, perhaps, who did him strict and comp