"I shall be left to myself now,--he will never ask me to his house again, never give me any parties or drives or opera-boxes or jewels,--he will never come to see me, and I shall have no pleasure at all! I shall sink into a dowdy, frowsy, shabby-genteel old maid for the rest of my life! It is _detestable_!" and she uttered a suppressed small shriek on the word, "It has been a hateful, abominable birthday! Everybody will be laughing at me up their sleeves! Think of Lady Larford!" This suggestion was too dreadful for comment, and Mrs.Sorrel closed her eyes, visibly shuddering.
"Who would have thought it possible!" she moaned drearily, "a millionaire, with such mad ideas! I _had_ thought him always such a sensible man! And he seemed to admire you so much! What will he do with all his money ?" The fair Lucy sighed, sobbed, and swallowed her tears into silence.

And again, like the doubtful refrain of a song in a bad dream, her mother moaned and murmured-- "What will he do with all his money!".