It was thus that Bucklaw, in the perturbation of his embarrassment upon
this critical occasion, forgot the just apprehensions he had entertained
of Lady Ashton's overbearing ascendency over her daughter's mind, and
lost an opportunity of ascertaining, by his own investigation, the real
state of Lucy's feelings.

The other gentlemen left the room, and in a shrot time Lady Ashton,
followed by her daughter, entered the apartment. She appeared, as he had
seen her on former occasions, rather composed than agitated; but a nicer
judge than he could scarce have determined whether her calmness was that
of despair or of indifference. Bucklaw was too much agitated by his own
feelings minutely to scrutinise those of the lady. He stammered out an
unconnected address, confounding together the two or three topics to
which it related, and stopt short before he brought it to any regular
conclusion. Miss Ashton listened, or looked as if she listened, but
returned not a single word in answer, continuing to fix her eyes on
a small piece of embroidery on which, as if by instinct or habit, her
fingers were busily employed. Lady Ashton sat at some distance, almost
screened from notice by the deep embrasure of the window in which she
had placed her chair. From this she whispered, in a tone of voice
which, though soft and sweet, had something in it of admonition, if not
command: "Lucy, my dear, remember--have you heard what Bucklaw has been
saying?"