CHAPTER 6 LADY LIN LITHGOE'S MISSION LADY LIN LITHGOE, said Frank Greystock, holding up both his hands. Yes, indeed, said Miss McNulty, I did not speak to her, but I saw her. She has sent her love to Lady Eustis, and begs that she will see her." Lady Eustis had been so surprised by the announcement that hitherto she had not spoken a word. The quarrel between her and her aunt had been of such a nature that it had seemed to be impossible that the old counter should come to Mount Street. Lady had certainly behaved very badly to her aunt, about as badly as a young woman could behave to an old woman. She had accepted bread and shelter and the very clothes on her back from her aunt's bounty, and had rejected even the hand of her benefactress, the first moment that she had bread and shelter and clothes of her own. And here was Lady Linlithgoe downstairs in the parlour and sending up her love to her niece. I won't see her," said Lizzie. You would better see her, said Frank. I can't see her, said Lizzie. Good gracious, my dear, what did she come for? She says it's very important, said Miss McNulty. Of course you must see her, said Frank. Let me get out of the house and then tell the servant to show her up at once. Don't be weak now, Lizzie, and I'll come and find all about it to-morrow. Mind you do," said Lizzie. Then Frank took his departure, and Lizzie did as she was bitten. You remain in here, Julia, she said, so as to be near if I want you. She shall come into the front room. Then, absolutely shaking with fear of the approaching evil, she took her seat in the largest drawing-room. There was still a little delay. Time was given to Frank Greystock to get away, and to do so without meeting Lady Linnithgo in the passage. The message was conveyed by Miss McNulty to the servant, and the same servant opened the front door for Frank before he delivered it. Lady Linnithgo, too, though very strong, was old. She was slow, or perhaps it might more properly be said she was stately in her movements. She was one of those old women who are undoubtedly old women, who in the remembrance of younger people seem always to have been old women, but on whom old age appears to have no debilitating effects. If the hand of Lady Linnithgo ever trembled, it trembled from anger. If her foot ever faltered, it faltered for effect. In her way Lady Linnithgo was a very powerful human being. She knew nothing of fear, nothing of charity, nothing of mercy, and nothing of the softness of love. She had no imagination. She was worldly, covetous, and not unfrequently cruel. But she meant to be true and honest, though she often failed in her meaning, and she had an idea of her duty in life. She was not self-indulgent. She was as hard as an oak post, but then she was also as trustworthy. No human being liked her, but she had the good word of the great many human beings. At great cost to her own comfort she had endeavoured to do her duty to her niece, Lizzie Greystock, when Lizzie was homeless. Undoubtedly Lizzie's bed, while it had been spread under her aunt's roof, had not been one of roses, but, such as it had been, she had endured to occupy it while it served her needs. She had constrained herself to bear her aunt, but from the moment of her escape she had chosen to reject her aunt altogether. Now her aunt's heavy step was heard upon the stairs. Lizzie also was a brave woman after a certain fashion. She could dare to incur a great danger for an adequate object. But she was too young as yet to have become mistress of that persistent courage which was Lady Lynlithgow's peculiar possession. When the Countess entered the drawing-room, Lizzie rose upon her legs, but did not come forward from her chair. The old woman was not tall, but her face was long and at the same time large, square at the chin and square at the forehead, and gave her almost an appearance of height. Her nose was very prominent, not beaked but straight and strong and broad at the bridge and of a dark red colour. Her eyes were sharp and grey, her mouth was large and over it there was almost beard enough for a young man's moustache. Her chin was firm and large and solid. Her hair was still brown, and was only just grizzled in parts. Nothing becomes an old woman like grey hair, but Lady Lynlithgow's hair would never be grey. Her appearance on the whole was not pre-possessing, but it gave one an idea of honest, real strength. What one saw was not buckram, whale-bone, paint and false hair, it was all human. Lady Feminine, certainly not angelic, with perhaps a hint in the other direction, but a human body, and not a thing of pads and patches. Lizzie, as she saw her aunt, made up her mind for the combat. Who is there that has lived to be a man or woman, and has not experienced a moment in which a combat has impended, and a call for such sudden courage has been necessary? Alas! Sometimes the combat comes, and the courage is not there. Lady Eustis was not at her ease, as she saw her aunt enter the room. Oh, come ye in peace, or come ye in war! She would have said she dared. Her aunt had sent up her love, if the message had been delivered at right, but what of love could there be between the two? The Countess dashed at once to the matter in hand, making no allusion to Lizzie's ungrateful conduct to herself. Lizzie, she said, I've been asked to come to you by Mr. Campadown. I'll sit down, if you please. Oh, certainly Aunt Penelope. Mr. Campadown? Yes, Mr. Campadown. You know who he is. He has been with me, because I am your nearest relation. So I am, and therefore I have come. I don't like it, I can tell you. As for that, Aunt Penelope, you've done it to please yourself," said Lizzie, in a tone of insolence with which Lady Linnethgo had been familiar in former days. No, I haven't, miss. I haven't come for my own pleasure at all. I have come for the credit of the family, if any good can be done towards saving it. You've got your husband's diamonds locked up somewhere, and you must give them back. My husband's diamonds were my diamonds," said Lizzie stoutly. They are family diamonds, Eustace diamonds, heirlooms, old property belonging to the Eustaces, just like their estates. Safflorian didn't give them away, and couldn't, and wouldn't, if he could. Such things ain't given away in that fashion. It's all nonsense, and you must give them up. Who says so? I say so. That's nothing, Aunt Penelope. Nothing, is it? You'll see. Mr. Campadon says so. All the world will say so. If you don't take care, you'll find yourself brought into a court of law, my dear, and a jury will say so. That's what it will come to. What good will they do you? You can't sell them, and as a widow you can't wear them. If you marry again, you wouldn't disgrace your husband by going about showing off the Eustace diamonds. But you don't know anything about proper feelings. I know every bit as much as you do, Aunt Penelope, and I don't want you to teach me. Will you give up the jewels to Mr. Campadon? No, I won't. Or to the jewellers? No, I won't. I mean to keep them for my child. Then there came Falter Sob, and a tear, and Lizzie's handkerchief was held to her eyes. Your child! Wouldn't they be kept properly for him, and for the family, if the jewellers had them? I don't believe you care about your child. Aunt Penelope, you'd better take care. I shall say just what I think, Lizzie, you can't frighten me. The fact is, you are disgracing the family you have married into, and as you are my niece, I am not disgracing anybody—you are disgracing everybody. As you are my niece, I have undertaken to come to you, and to tell you that if you don't give them up within a week from this time, they'll proceed against you for stealing them. Lady Nelithko, as she uttered this terrible threat, bobbed her head at her knees in a manner calculated to add very much to the force of her words. The words, and tone, and gesture combined were in truth awful. I didn't steal them, my husband gave them to me with his own hands. You wouldn't answer Mr. Campadon's letters, you know. Let alone we'll condemn you. After that there isn't a word to be said about it, not a word. Mr. Campadon is the family lawyer, and when he writes to you letter after letter, you take no more notice of him than a dog." The old woman was certainly very powerful. The way in which she pronounced that last word did make Lady Eustace ashamed of herself. Why didn't you answer his letters, unless you knew you were in the wrong? Of course you knew you were in the wrong. No, I didn't. A woman isn't obliged to answer everything that is written to her. Very well. You just say that before the judge, for you'll have to go before a judge.  I suppose you want to sell them. I won't stand this on Penelope, said Lizzie, rising from her seat. You must stand it, and you'll have to stand worse than that. You don't suppose Mr. Campadon got me to come here for nothing. If you don't want to be made out to be a thief before all the world, I won't stand it, shrieked Lizzie. You have no business to come here and say such things to me, it's my house. I shall say just what I please. Miss McNulty, come in. And Lizzie, through open the door, hardly knowing how the very weak ally whom she now invoked could help her, but driven by the stress of the combat to seek assistance somewhere. Miss McNulty, who was seated near the door, and who had necessarily heard every word of the conversation, had no alternative but to appear. Of all human beings, Lady Linlithgow was to her the most terrible, and yet, after a fashion, she loved the old woman. Miss McNulty was humble, cowardly, and subservient, but she was not a fool, and she understood the difference between truth and falsehood. She had endured fearful things from Lady Linlithgow, but she knew that there might be more of sound protection in Lady Linlithgow's real wrath than in Lizzie's pretended affection. So you are there, are you? said the Countess. Yes, I am here, Lady Linlithgow. Listening, I suppose. Well, so much the better. You know well enough, and you can tell her.  Julia, said Lady Eustace, will you have the kindness to see that my aunt is shown to her carriage? I cannot stand her violence, and I will go upstairs." So saying, she made her way very gracefully into the back drawing-room, whence she could escape to her bedroom. But her aunt fired a last shot at her. Unless you do as your bid, Lizzie, you'll find yourself in prison as sure as eggs. Then when her niece was beyond hearing, she turned to Miss McNulty. I suppose you've heard about these diamonds, McNulty. I know she's got them, Lady Linlithgow. She has no more right to them than you have. I suppose you're afraid to tell her so, lest you should turn you out. But it's well she should know it. I've done my duty. Never mind about the servant, I'll find my way out of the house. Nevertheless the bell was wrong, and the Countess was shown to her carriage with proper consideration. The two ladies went to the opera, and it was not till after their return, and just as they were going to bed that anything further was said about either the necklace or the visit. Miss McNulty would not begin the subject, and Lizzie purposely postponed it. But not for a moment had it been off Lady Eustace's mind. She did not care much for music, though she professed to do so, and thought that she did. But on this night, had she at other times been a slave to Saint Cecilia, she would have been free from that thralldom. The old woman's threats had gone into her very heart's blood. Theft, and prison, and juries, and judges had been thrown at her head so violently that she was almost stunned. Could it really be the case that they would prosecute her for stealing? She was Lady Eustace, and who but Lady Eustace should have these diamonds, or be allowed to wear them? Nobody could say that Sir Florian had not given them to her. It could not surely be brought against her as an actual crime that she had not answered Mr. Camperdown's letters. And yet she was not sure. Her ideas about law and judicial proceedings were very vague. Of what was wrong and what was right she had a distinct notion. She knew well enough that she was endeavouring to steal the Eustace diamonds, but she did not in the least know what power there might be in the law to prevent or to punish her for the intended theft. She knew well that the thing was not really her own. But there were, as she thought, so many points in her favour that she felt it to be a cruelty that anyone should grudge her the plunder. Was not she the only Lady Eustace living? After these threats from Mr. Camperdown and Lady Lynn Lithgow, she felt certain they would be used against her whether they were true or false. She would break her heart should she abandon her prey, and afterwards find that Mr. Camperdown would have been wholly powerless against her had she held on to it. But then who would tell her the truth? She was sharp enough to understand, or at any rate suspicious enough to believe, that Mr. Mopus would be actuated by no other desire in the matter than that of running up a bill against her. "'My dear,' she said to Miss McNulty as they went upstairs after the opera, "'come into my room a moment. You heard all that my aunt said.' I could not help hearing.  I wanted you to hear. Of course what she said was the greatest nonsense in the world. I don't know. When she talked about my being taken to prison for not answering a lawyer's letter, that must be nonsense. I suppose that was.  Now isn't she a ferocious old termigant?' Lizzie paused for an answer, desirous that her companion should join her in her enmity against her aunt. But Miss McNulty was unwilling to say anything against one who had been her protectress, and might perhaps be her protectress again. "'You don't mean to say you don't hate her,' said Lizzie.    Lady Eustace understood this and relented. "'But you needn't be afraid,' she said, to tell me what you think.' "'About the diamonds, you mean?' "'Yes, about the diamonds.' "'You have enough without them. I'd give them up for peace and quiet.' That was Miss McNulty's advice. "'No, I haven't enough, or nearly enough. I've had to buy ever so many things since my husband died. They've done all that they could to be hard to me. They made me pay for the very furniture at Portray.' This wasn't true, but it was true that Lizzie had endeavoured to palm off on the Eustace estate bills for new things which she had ordered for her own country house. I haven't near enough. I'm in debt already. People talked as though I were the richest woman in the world, but when it comes to be spent I ain't rich. Why should I give them up as on my own? Not if they are your own. If I give you a present, and then die, people can't come and take it away afterwards because I didn't put it into my will. There'd be no making presents like that at all." This Lizzie said with an evident conviction in the strength of her argument. "'But this necklace is so very valuable.' "'That can't make a difference. If a thing is a man's own, he can give it away—not a house or a farm or a wood or anything like that, but a thing that he can carry about with him, of course he can give it away.' "'But perhaps the Florian didn't mean to give it for always,' suggested Miss McNulty. "'But perhaps he did. He told me that they were mine and I shall keep them, so that's the end of it. You can go to bed now.' And Miss McNulty went to bed. Lizzie, as she sat thinking of it, owned to herself that no help was to be expected in that quarter. She was not angry with Miss McNulty, who was almost of necessity a poor creature, but she was convinced more strongly than ever that some friend was necessary to her who should not be a poor creature. Lord Faun, though a peer, was a poor creature. Frank Greystock, she believed to be as strong as a house. End of Chapter 6 Chapter 7 of the Eustace Diamonds This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Philippa Jevons. The Eustace Diamonds by Anthony Trollop. Chapter 7 Mr. Berks' Speeches Lucy Morris had been told by Lady Faun that, in point of fact, that being a governess she ought to give over falling in love with Frank Greystock, and she had not liked it. Before no doubt had used words less abrupt, had probably used but few words, and had expressed her meaning chiefly by little winks and shakings of her head, and small gestures of her hands, and had ended by a kiss, in all of which she had intended to mingle mercy with justice, and had in truth been full of love. Nevertheless Lucy had not liked it. No girl likes to be warned against falling in love, whether the warning be needed or not needed. In this case Lucy knew very well that the caution was too late. It might be all very well for Lady Faun to decide that her governess should not receive visits from a lover in her house, and then the governess might decide whether in those circumstances she would remain or go away. But Lady Faun could have no right to tell her governess not to be in love. All this Lucy said to herself over and over again, and yet she knew that Lady Faun had treated her well. The old woman had kissed her, and purred over her, and praised her, and had really loved her. As a matter of course Lucy was not entitled to have a lover. Lucy knew that well enough. As she walked alone among the shrubs, she made arguments in defence of Lady Faun as against herself. And yet at every other minute she would blaze up into a grand roth, and picture to herself a scene in which she would tell Lady Faun boldly that as her lover had been banished from Faun court, she, Lucy, would remain there no longer. There were but two objections to this course. The first was that Frank Greystock was not her lover, and the second, that on leaving Faun court she would not know with her to take herself. It was understood by everybody that she was never to leave Faun court till an unexceptionable home should be found for her, either with the hitaways or elsewhere. Lady Faun would no more allow her to go away, depending for her future on the mere chance of some promiscuous engagement, than she would have turned one of her own daughters out of the house in the same forlorn condition. Lady Faun was a tower of strength to Lucy. But then a tower of strength may at any moment become a dungeon. Frank Greystock was not her lover. Ah, there was the worst of it all. She had given her heart, and had got nothing in return.  Had she been unmaidenly? Had she been too forward with her heart? Had it been extracted from her, as women's hearts are extracted, by efforts on the man's part, or had she simply chucked it away from her to the first comer? Then she remembered certain scenes at the denary, words that had been spoken, looks that had been turned upon her, a pressure of the hand late at night, a little whisper, a ribbon that had been begged, a flower that had been given, and once, once, then there came a burning blush upon her cheek, that there should have been so much, and yet so little that was of a veil. She had no right to say to any one that the man was her lover. She had no right to assure herself that he was her lover. But she knew that some wrong was done her in that he was not her lover. Of the importance of her own self as a living thing with a heart to suffer and a soul to endure, she thought enough. She believed in herself, thinking of herself that should it ever be her lot to be a man's wife, she would be to him a true loving friend and companion, living in his joys and fighting, if it were necessary, down to the stumps of her nails in his interests. But of what she had to give over and above her heart and intellect, she never thought at all. Of personal beauty she had very little appreciation even in others. The form and face of Lady Eustis, which indeed were very lovely, were distasteful to her, whereas she delighted to look upon the broad, plain, colourless countenance of Lydia Fawn, who was endeared to her by Frank good humour and an unselfish disposition. In regard to men, she had never asked herself the question whether this man was handsome or that man ugly.  One man she not only loved but could not help loving. The other man, as regarded that sort of sympathy which marriage should recognise, must always have been worlds asunder from her. She knew that men demand that women shall possess beauty, and she certainly had never thought of herself as beautiful. But it did not occur to her that on that account she was doomed to fail. She was too strong-hearted for any such fear. She did not think much of these things, but felt herself to be so far endowed as to be fit to be the wife of such a man as Frank Greystock. She was a proud, stout, self-confident, but still modest little woman, too fond of truth to tell lies of herself, even to herself. She was possessed of a great power of sympathy, genial, very social, greatly given to the mirth of conversation, though in talking she would listen much and say but little. She was keenly alive to humour, and had at her command a great fund of laughter which would allume in her whole face without producing a sound from her mouth.  And yet how could it be otherwise with her? Lady Lynlithgo's visit to her niece had been made on a Thursday, and on that same evening Frank Greystock had asked his question in the House of Commons, or rather had made his speech, about the Sawaab of Mygorb. We all know the meaning of such speeches. Had not Frank belonged to the party that was out, and had not the resistance to the Sawaab's claim come from the party that was in, Frank would not probably have cared much about the Prince. We may be sure that he would not have troubled himself to read a line of that very dull and long pamphlet of which he had to make himself master before he could venture to stir in the matter, had not the road of opposition been open to him in that direction. But what exertion will not a politician make with the view of getting the point of his lance within the joints of his enemy's harness? Frank made his speech and made it very well. It was just the case for a lawyer, admitting that kind of advocacy which it is a lawyer's business to practice. The Indian minister of the day, Lord Fawn's chief, had determined after much anxious consideration that it was his duty to resist the claim, and then for resisting it he was attacked. If the party yielded to the claim, the attack would have been as venomous, and very probably would have come from the same quarter. No blame by such an assertion is cast upon the young conservative aspirant for party honours. It is thus that the war is waged. Frank Restock took up the Sawaab's case, and would have drawn mingled tears and indignation from his hearers, had not his hearers all known the conditions of the contest. On either side did the hearers care much for the Sawaab's claims, but they felt that Restock was making good his own claims to some future reward from his party. He was very hard upon the minister, and he was hard also upon Lord Fawn, stating that the cruelty of government ascendancy had never been put forward as a doctrine in plainer terms than those which had been used in another place, in reference to the wrongs of this poor, ill-used native chieftain. This was very grievous to Lord Fawn, who had personally desired to favour the ill-used chieftain, and harder again because he and Greystock were intimate with each other. He felt the thing keenly, and was full of his grievance when, in accordance with his custom, he came down to Fawn Court on the Saturday evening. The Fawn family, which consisted entirely of women, dined early. On Saturdays, when his lordship would come down, a dinner was prepared for him alone. On Sundays they all dined together at three o'clock. On Sunday evening Lord Fawn would return to town to prepare himself for his Monday's work. Perhaps also he disliked the sermon which Lady Fawn always read to the assembled household at nine o'clock on Sunday evening. On this Saturday he came out into the grounds after dinner, where the oldest unmarried daughter, the present Miss Fawn, was walking with Lucy Morris. It was almost a summer evening, so much so that some of the party had been sitting on the garden benches, and four of the girls were still playing croquet on the lawn, though there was hardly light enough to see the balls. Miss Fawn had already told Lucy that her brother was very angry with Mr. Greystock. Now, Lucy's sympathies were all with Frank and the Sa'ab. She had endeavoured indeed and had partially succeeded in perverting the Undersecretary. Nor did she now intend to change her opinions, although all the Fawn girls and Lady Fawn were against her. When a brother or a son is an Undersecretary of State, sisters and mothers will constantly be on the side of the government, so far as that Undersecretary's office is concerned. "'Upon my word, Frederick,' said Augusta Fawn, "'I do think Mr. Greystock was too bad.' "'There's nothing these fellows won't say or do,' exclaimed Lord Fawn. "'I can't understand it myself. When I've been in opposition, I never did that kind of thing.' "'I wonder whether it was because he is angry with Mama,' said Miss Fawn. "'Everybody who knew the Fawns knew that Augusta Fawn was not clever, and that she would occasionally say the very thing that ought not to be said.' "'Oh, dear, no,' said the Undersecretary, who could not endure the idea that the weak women kind of his family should have in any way an influence on the Auguste doings of Parliament. "'You know Mama did nothing of that kind at all,' said his Lordship, putting down his sister with great authority. "'Mr. Greystock is simply not an honest politician. That is about the whole of it. He chose to attack me because there was an opportunity. There isn't a man in either house who cares for such things personally less than I do,' had his Lordship said, more than he did. He might perhaps have been correct. But I can't bear the feeling. The fact is a lawyer never understands what is and what is not fair fighting.' Lucy felt her face tingling with heat, and was preparing to say a word in defence of that special lawyer, when Lady Fawn's voice was heard from the drawing-room window. "'Come in, girls, it's nine o'clock.' In that house Lady Fawn reigned supreme, and no one ever doubted for a moment as to obedience.  But Lord Fawn, who was not one of the girls, took another turn by himself, thinking of the wrongs he had endured. "'Fredrick is so angry about Mr. Greystock,' said Augusta as soon as they were seated. "'I do feel that it was provoking,' said the second sister. "'And considering that Mr. Greystock has so often been here, I don't think it was kind,' said the third. Lydia did not speak, but could not refrain from glancing her eyes at Lucy's face. "'I believe everything is considered fair in Parliament,' said Lady Fawn. Then Lord Fawn, who had heard the last words, entered through the window. "'I don't know about that, mother,' said he. "'Gentlemen-like conduct is the same everywhere. There are things that may be said, and there are things which may not. Mr. Greystock has altogether gone beyond the usual limits, and I shall take care that he knows my opinion.' "'You are not going to quarrel with the man?' asked the mother. "'I am not going to fight him, if you mean that, but I shall let him know that I think that he has transgressed.' "'This,' his lordship said, with that haughty superiority, which a man may generally display with safety among the women of his own family.' Lucy had borne a great deal, knowing well that it was better that she should bear such injury and silence, but there was a point beyond which she could not endure it. It was intolerable to her that Mr. Greystock's character as a gentleman should be impugned before all the ladies of the family, every one of whom did in fact know her liking for the man. And then it seemed to her that she could rush into the battle, giving a side blow at his lordship on behalf of his absent antagonist, not appearing to fight for the Sa'wab. There had been a time when the poor Sa'wab was in favour at Fawncourt. I think Mr. Greystock was right to say all he could for the prince. If he took up the cause he was bound to make the best of it. She spoke with energy, and for the heightened colour, and Lady Fawn, hearing her, shook her head at her. "'Did you read Mr. Greystock's speech, Miss Morris?' asked Lord Fawn. "'Every word of it, in the times. And you understood his allusion to what I had been called upon to say in the house of lords on behalf of the government. I suppose I did. It did not seem to be difficult to understand.' "'I do think Mr. Greystock should have abstained from attacking Frederick,' said Augusta. "'It was not—not quite the thing that we're accustomed to,' said Lord Fawn. "'Of course I don't know about that,' said Lucy.  "'There is a great deal to be said on both sides. I know of old that Miss Morris is a great friend of the Sa'ab. Who used to be his friend, too?' said Lucy. I felt for him, and do feel for him. All that is very well. I ask no one to agree with me on the question itself. I only say that Mr. Greystock's mode of treating it was unbecoming. "'I think it was the very best speech I have ever read in my life,' said Lucy, with headlong energy and heightened colour. "'Then, Miss Morris, you and I have very different opinions about speeches.' said Lord Fawn, with severity. "'You have probably never read Burke's speeches?' "'And I don't want to read them,' said Lucy. "'That is another question,' said Lord Fawn, and his tone and manner were very severe indeed. "'We are talking about speeches in Parliament,' said Lucy. Poor Lucy. She knew quite as well as did Lord Fawn that Burke had been a house of commons orator, but in her impatience, and from absence of the habit of argument, she omitted to explain that she was talking about the speeches of the day.   Where do you suppose that Mr. Burke's speeches were made?' "'Of course I know that they were made in Parliament,' said Lucy, almost in tears. "'If Miss Morris means that Burke's greatest efforts were not made in Parliament, that his speech to the electors of Bristol, for instance, and his opening address on the trial of Warren Hastings were upon the whole superior to...' "'I didn't mean anything at all,' said Lucy. "'Lord Fawn is trying to help you, my dear,' said Lady Fawn. "'I don't want to be helped,' said Lucy. "'I only mean that I thought Mr. Greystock's speech as good as it could possibly be. There wasn't a word in it that didn't seem to me to be just what it ought to be. I do think that they are ill-treating that poor Indian prince, and I am very glad that somebody has had the courage to get up and say so.' No doubt it would have been better that Lucy should have held her tongue. Had she simply been upholding against an opponent a political speaker whose speech she had read with pleasure, she might have held her own in the argument against the whole Fawn family. She was a favourite with them all, and even the Undersecretary would not have been hard upon her. But there had been more than this for poor Lucy to do. Her heart was so truly concerned in the matter that she could not refrain herself from resenting and attack upon the man she loved. She had allowed herself to be carried into superlatives, and had almost been uncurtious to Lord Fawn. "'My dear,' said Lady Fawn, "'we won't say anything more upon the subject.' Lord Fawn took up a book. Lady Fawn busied herself in her knitting. Lydia assumed a look of unhappiness as though something very sad had occurred. Augusta addressed a question to her brother in a tone which plainly indicated a feeling on her part that her brother had been ill-used and was entitled to special consideration. Lucy sat silent and still, and then left the room with a hurried step. Lydia at once rose to follow her, but was stopped by her mother. "'You had better leave her alone just at present, my dear,' said Lady Fawn. "'I did not know that Miss Morris was so particularly interested in Mr. Greystock,' said Lord Fawn. "'She has known him since she was a child,' said his mother. About an hour afterwards Lady Fawn went upstairs and found Lucy sitting all alone in the still so-called schoolroom. She had no candle and had made no pretence to do anything since she had left the room downstairs. In the interval family prayers had been read, and Lucy's absence was unusual and contrary to rule. "'Lucy, my dear, why are you sitting here?' said Lady Fawn. "'Because I am unhappy.' "'What makes you unhappy, Lucy?' "'I don't know. I would rather you didn't ask me. I suppose I behaved badly downstairs.' "'My son would forgive you in a moment, if you asked him.' "'No, certainly not. I can beg your pardon, Lady Fawn, but not his. Of course I had no right to talk about speeches and politics and this prince in your drawing-room. Lucy, you astonish me. But it is so. Dear Lady Fawn, don't look like that. I know how good you are to me. I know you let me do things which other governesses may not do, and say things, but still I am a governess, and I know I misbehaved to you.' Then Lucy burst into tears. Lady Fawn, in whose bosom there was no stony corner or morsel of hard iron, was softened at once. "'My dear, you are more like another daughter to me than anything else.' "'Dear Lady Fawn, but it makes me unhappy when I see your mind engaged about Mr. Greystock.' "'There is the truth, Lucy. You should not think of Mr. Greystock. Mr. Greystock is a man who has his way to make in the world, and could not marry you even if, under other circumstances, he would wish to do so. You know how frank I am with you, giving you credit for honest, sound good sense. To me and to my girls, who know you as a lady, you are as dear a friend as though you were anything you may please to think. Lucy Morris is to us our own dear, dear little friend Lucy, but Mr. Greystock, who is a Member of Parliament, could not marry a governess.' "'But I love him so dearly,' said Lucy, getting up from her chair, that his slightest word is to me more than all the words of all the world beside. It is no use, Lady Fawn. I do love him, and I don't mean to try to give it up.' Lady Fawn stood silent for a moment, and then suggested that it would be better for them both to go to bed. During that minute she had been unable to decide what she had better say or do in the present emergency. CHAPTER VIII. THE CONQUERING HERO COMES The reader will perhaps remember that when Lizzie Eustace was told that her aunt was downstairs, Frank Greystock was with her, and that he promised to return on the following day to hear the results of the interview. Had Lady Lynn Lithgow not come at that very moment, Frank would probably have asked his rich cousin to be his wife. She had told him that she was solitary and unhappy. And after that what else could he have done but ask her to be his wife. The old Countess, however, arrived and interrupted him. He went away abruptly, promising to come on the morrow. But on the morrow he never came. It was a Friday, and Lizzie remained at home for him the whole morning. When four o'clock was past she knew that he would be at the house. But still she did not stir. And she contrived that Miss McNulty should be absent the entire day. Miss McNulty was even made to go to the play by herself in the evening. But her absence was of no service. Frank Greystock came not. And at eleven at night Lizzie swore to herself that should he ever come again he should come in vain. Nevertheless, through the whole of Saturday she expected him with more or less of confidence. And on the Sunday morning she was still well inclined towards him. It might be that he would come on that day. She could understand that a man with his hands so full of business, as were those of her cousin Frank, should find himself unable to keep an appointment. Nor would there be fair ground for permanent anger with such a one, even should he forget an appointment. But surely he would come on the Sunday. She had been quite sure that the offer was about to be made when that odious old Herodun had come in and disturbed everything. Indeed the offer had been all but made. She had felt the premonitory flutter, had asked herself the important question, and had answered it. She had told herself that the thing would do. Frank was not the exact hero that her fancy had painted, but he was sufficiently heroic. Everybody said that he would work his way up to the top of the tree and become a rich man. At any rate she had resolved. And then Lady Lynn Lithgow had come in. Surely he would come on the Sunday. He did not come on the Sunday. But Lord Fawn did come. Immediately after morning church Lord Fawn declared his intention of returning at once from Fawn Court to town. He was very silent at breakfast, and his sister surmised that he was still angry with poor Lucy. Lucy too was unlike herself, was silent, sad and oppressed. Lady Fawn was serious and almost solemn, so that there was little even of holy mirth at Fawn Court on that Sunday morning. The whole family, however, went to church and immediately on their return Lord Fawn expressed his intention of returning to town. All the sisters felt that an injury had been done to them by Lucy. It was only on Sundays that their dinner table was graced by the male member of the family, and now he was driven away. I am sorry that you are going to desert us, Frederick, said Lady Fawn. Lord Fawn muttered something as to absolute necessity and went. The afternoon was very dreary at Fawn Court. Nothing was said on the subject, but there was still the feeling that Lucy had offended. At four o'clock on that Sunday afternoon Lord Fawn was closeted with Lady Eustis. The closeting consisted simply in the fact that Miss McNulty was not present. Lizzie fully appreciated the pleasure and utility and general convenience of having a companion, but she had no scruple whatever in obtaining absolute freedom for herself when she desired it. My dear, she would say, the best friends in the world shouldn't always be together, should they? Wouldn't you like to go to the horticultural? Then Miss McNulty would go to the horticultural or else up into her own bedroom. When Lizzie was beginning to wax wrathful again because Frank Greystock did not come, Lord Fawn made his appearance. How kind this is, said Lizzie. I thought you were always at Richmond on Sundays. I have just come up from my mother's, said Lord Fawn, twiddling his hat. Then Lizzie, with the pretty eagerness, asked after Lady Fawn and the girls and her dear little friend Lucy Morris. Lizzie could be very prettily eager when she pleased. She leaned forward her face as she asked her questions and threw back her loose, lustrous lock of hair with her long, lithe fingers covered with diamonds. The diamonds, these which Sir Florian had really given her or which she had procured from Mr. Benjamin in the Clever Manor described in the opening chapter. They are all quite well, thank you, said Lord Fawn. I believe Miss Morris is quite well, though she was a little out of sorts last night. She is not ill, I hope, said Lizzie, bringing the lustrous lock forward again. In her temper, I mean, said Lord Fawn. Indeed, I hope Miss Lucy is not forgetting herself. That would be very sad after the great kindness she has received. Lord Fawn said that it would be very sad and then put his hat down upon the floor. It came upon Lizzie at that moment, as by a flash of lightning, by an electric message delivered to her intellect by that movement of the hat, that she might be sure of Lord Fawn if she chose to take him. On Friday she might have been sure of Frank, only that Lady Lynn Lithgow came in the way, but now she did not feel at all sure of Frank. Lord Fawn was, at any rate, a peer. She had heard that he was a poor peer, but a peer, she thought, can't be altogether poor.  He was one of the government, and his wife would, no doubt, be able to go anywhere. It was becoming essential to her that she should marry. Even though her husband should give up the diamonds, she would not, in such case, incur the disgrace of surrendering them herself. She would have kept them till she had ceased to be a Eustace. Frank had certainly meant it on that Thursday afternoon, but surely he would have been in Mount Street before this if he had not changed his mind. We all know that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. I have been at Fawn Court once or twice, said Lizzie, with her sweetest grace, and I always think it is a model of real family happiness. Well, I hope you may be there very often, said Lord Fawn. Oh, I have no right to intrude myself often on your mother, Lord Fawn. There could hardly be a better opening than this for him had he chosen to accept it. But it was not thus that he had arranged it, for he had made his arrangements. Oh, there would be no feeling of that kind, I am sure, he said. And then he was silent. How was he to deploy himself on the ground before him so as to make the strategy which he had prepared answer the occasion of the day? Lady Eustace, he said, I don't know what your views of life may be.  Yes, that gives a great interest, of course. He will inherit a very large fortune, Lord Fawn. Too large I fear to be of service to a youth of one and twenty. And I must endeavor to fit him for the possession of it. That is, and always must be, the chief object of my existence. Then she felt she had said too much. He was just the man who would be fool enough to believe her. Not, but when it is hard to do it.  But when a portion of the devotion must be given to the preservation of material interests, there is less of tenderness in it. Don't you think so? No doubt, said Lord Fawn. No doubt. But he had not followed her and was still thinking of his own strategy. It's a comfort, of course, to know that one's child is provided for. Oh, yes. But they tell me the poor little deer will have forty thousand a year when he's of age. And when I look at him in his little bed and press him in my arms and think of all that money, I almost wish that his father had been a poor, plain gentleman. Then the handkerchief was put to her eyes and Lord Fawn had a moment in which to collect himself. Ah! I myself am a poor man, for my rank, I mean. A man with your position, Lord Fawn, and your talents and genius for business can never be poor. My father's property was all Irish, you know. Was it indeed? And he was an Irish peer till Lord Melbourne gave him an English peerage. An Irish peer, was he? Lizzie understood nothing of this but presumed that an Irish peer was a peer who had not sufficient money to live upon. Lord Fawn, however, was endeavoring to describe his own history in as few words as possible. He was then made Lord Fawn of Richmond in the peerage of the United Kingdom.  The property in Ireland is still mine, but there's no place on it. Indeed. There was a house, but my father allowed it to tumble down. It's in Tipperary. Not at all a desirable country to live in. Oh, dear, no! Don't they murder the people? It's about five thousand a year.  What an excellent family arrangement, said Lizzie. There was so long a pause made between each statement that she was forced to make some reply. You see, for a peer, the fortune is very small indeed. But then you have a salary, don't you? And I have, but no one can tell how long that may last. I'm sure it's for everybody's good that it should go on for ever so many years, said Lizzie. Oh, thank you, said Lord Fawn. I'm afraid, however, there are great many people who don't think so. Your cousin Greystock would do anything on earth to turn us out. Luckily my cousin Frank has not much power, said Lizzie. And in saying it, she threw into her tone and into her countenance a certain amount of contempt for Frank as a man and as a politician, which was pleasant to Lord Fawn. Now, said he, I have told you everything about myself, which I was bound as a man of honour to tell before I—in short, you know what I mean. Oh, Lord Fawn, I have told you everything. I own no money, but I could not afford to marry a wife without an income. I admire you more than any woman I ever saw. I love you with all my heart. He was now standing upright before her, with the fingers of his right hand touching his left breast, and there was something almost of dignity in his gesture and demeanour. It may be that you were determined never to marry again.  When she had listened to him thus far, of course she must accept him, but he was by no means aware of that. She sat silent with her hands folded on her breast, looking down upon the ground, but he did not as yet attempt to seat himself by her. Lady Eustace, he continued, may I venture to entertain a hope? May I not have an hour to think upon it? said Lizzie, just venturing to turn a glance of her eye upon his face. Oh, certainly I will call again whenever you may bid me. Now she was silent for two or three minutes, during which he still stood above her. But he had dropped his hand from his breast, and had stooped, and picked up his hat, ready for his departure. Was he to come again on Monday, or Tuesday, or Wednesday? Let her tell him that, and he would go. He doubtless reflected that Wednesday would suit him best, because there would be no house. But Lizzie was too magnanimous for this. Lord Vaughn, she said, rising, you have paid me the greatest compliment that a man can pay a woman, coming from you it is doubly precious, first because of your character, and second, why secondly, was secondly because I can love you.   Dearest Lizzie, he said. Dearest Frederick, she murmured. I shall write to my mother to-night, he said. Do, do, dearest Frederick, and she will come to you at once, I am sure. I will receive her, and love her as a mother, said Lizzie, with all her energy. Then he kissed her again, her forehead, and her lips, and took his leave, promising to be with her at any rate on Wednesday. Lady Faun, she said to herself, the name did not sound so well as that of Lady Eustis, but it is much to be a wife, and more to be a peeress. CHAPTER IX. Showing what the Miss Faun said, and what Mrs. Hittaway thought. In the way of duty Lord Faun was as a Hercules, not indeed climbing trees in the Hesperides, but achieving enterprises which to other men, if not impossible, would have been so unpalatable as to have been put aside as impracticable. On the Monday morning, after he was accepted by Lady Eustis, he was with his mother at Faun Court, before he went down to the India office. He had at least been very honest in the description he had given of his own circumstances to the lady whom he intended to marry. He had told her the exact truth, and though she, with all her cleverness, had not been able to realise the facts when related to her so suddenly, still enough had been said to make it quite clear that when details of business should hereafter be discussed in a less hurried manner, he would be able to say that he had explained all his circumstances before he had made his offer. And he had been careful too as to her affairs. He had ascertained that her late husband had certainly settled upon her for life and estate worth four thousand a year. He knew also that eight thousand pounds had been left her, but of that he took no account. It might be probable that she had spent it. If any of it were left it would be a godsend. Lord Form thought a great deal about money. Being a poor man, feeling a place fit only for rich men, he had been driven to think of money, and had become self-denying and parsimonious, perhaps we may say hungry and close-fisted. Such a condition of character is the natural consequence of such a position. There is probably no man who becomes naturally so hard in regard to money as he who is bound to live among rich men, who is not rich himself, and who is yet honest. The weight of the work of life in these circumstances is so crushing, requires such continued thought, and makes itself so continually felt, that the mind of the sufferer is never free from the contamination of sixpences. Of such a one it is not fair to judge as of other men with similar incomes. Lord Form had declared to his future bride that he had half five thousand a year to spend, or the half rather of such actual income as might be got in from an estate presumed to give five thousand a year, and it may be said that an unmarried gentleman ought not to be poor with such an income. But Lord Form unfortunately was a lord. Unfortunately was a landlord. Unfortunately was an Irish landlord. Let him be as careful as he might with his sixpences. His pounds would fly from him. Or as might perhaps better be said, could not be made to fly to him. He was very careful with his sixpences, and was always thinking not exactly how he might make two ends meet, but how to reconcile the strictest personal economy with the proper bearing of an English nobleman. Such a man almost naturally looks to marriage as an assistant in the dreary fight. It soon becomes clear to him that he cannot marry without money, and he learns to think that heiresses have been invented exactly to suit his case. He is conscious of having been subjected to hardship by fortune, and regards female wealth as his legitimate mode of escape from it. He has got himself, his position and perhaps his title to dispose of, and they are surely worth so much per annum. As for giving anything away that is out of the question. He has not been so placed as to be able to give. But, being an honest man, he will, if possible, make a fair bargain. Lord Faun was certainly an honest man, and he had been endeavouring for the last six or seven years to make a fair bargain. But then it is so hard to decide what is fair. Who was to tell a Lord Faun how much per annum he ought to regard himself as worth? He had, on one or two occasions, asked a high price, but no previous bargain had been made. No doubt he had come down a little in his demand, in suggesting a matrimonial arrangement to a widow with a child, and with only four thousand a year. Whether or no that income was hers in perpetuity, or only for life, he had not positively known when he made his offer. The will made by Sir Florian Eustace did not refer to the property at all. In the natural course of things the widow would only have a life interest in the income. Why should Sir Florian make a way in perpetuity with his family nevertheless there had been a rumour abroad that Sir Florian had been very generous, that the Scottish estate was to go to a second son in the event of there being a second son, but that otherwise it was to be at the widow's own disposal. No doubt had Lord Faun been persistent he might have found out the exact truth. He had, however, calculated that he could afford to accept even the life income. If more should come of it so much the better for him. He might at any rate so arrange the family matters that his heir should he have one should not at his death be called upon to pay something more than half the proceeds of the family property to his mother, as was now done by himself. Lord Faun breakfasted at Faun Court on the Monday, and his mother sat at the table with him pouring out his tea. Oh, Frederick! she said. It is so important. Just so. Very important indeed. I should like you to call and see her either to-day or to-morrow. That's of course. And you had better get her down here. I don't know that she'll come. Or try to ask the little boy. Certainly, said Lord Faun, as he put a spoonful of egg into his mouth. Certainly. And Miss McNulty? No, I don't see that at all. I'm not going to marry Miss McNulty. The child, of course, must be one of us. And what is the income, Frederick? Four thousand a year. Something more, nominally, but four thousand to spend. You are sure about that? Quite sure. And forever? I believe so, of that I am not sure. It makes a great difference, Frederick. A very great difference indeed. I think it is her own. But at any rate, she is much younger than I am, and there need be no settlement out of my property. That is the great thing. Don't you think she's nice? She is very lovely. And clever. Certainly very clever. I hope she's not self-willed, Frederick. If she is, we must try and balance it, said Lord Faun, with a little smile. But in truth he had thought nothing about any such quality as that to which his mother now referred. The lady had an income. That was the first and most indispensable consideration. She was fairly well-born, was a lady, and was beautiful. In doing Lord Faun justice we must allow that, in all his attempted matrimonial speculations, some amount of feminine loveliness had been combined with feminine wealth. He had for two years been a suitor of Violet Effingham, who was the acknowledged beauty of the day. Of Violet Effingham, who at the present time was the wife of Lord Chilton, and he had offered himself thrice to Madame Max Gersler, who was reputed to be as rich as she was beautiful. In either case the fortune would have been greater than that which he would now win, and the money would certainly have been for ever. But in these attempts he had failed, and Lord Faun was not a man to think himself ill-used because he did not get the first good thing for which he asked. I suppose I may tell the girls, said Lady Faun. Yes, when I am gone I must be off now, only I could not bear not to come and see you.  And you'll go to-day. Yes, if you wish it certainly.  I would not take more than one, Augusta will be the best. You'll see Clara, I suppose. Clara was the married sister, Mrs. Hittaway. If you wish it. She had better call too, say on Thursday. It's quite as well that it should be known. I shan't choose to have more delayed and can be avoided. Well, I believe that's all. I hope she'll be a good wife to you, Frederick. I don't see why she shouldn't. Goodbye, mother. Tell the girls I will see them next Saturday. He didn't see why this woman he was about to marry should not be a good wife to him. And yet he knew nothing about her and had not taken the slightest trouble to make inquiry. That she was pretty he could see, that she was clever he could understand, that she lived in Mount Street was a fact. Her parentage was known to him, that she was the undoubted mistress of a large income was beyond dispute. But for all he knew she might be afflicted by every vice to which a woman can be subject. In truth she was afflicted by so many that the addition of all the others could hardly have made her worse than she was. She had never sacrificed her beauty to a lover. She had never sacrificed anything to anybody. Nor did she drink. It would be difficult, perhaps, to say anything else in her favour. And yet Lord Fawn was quite content to marry her, not having seen any reason why she should not make a good wife. Nor had Safflorean seen any reason. But she had broken Safflorean's heart. When the girls heard the news they were half frightened and half delighted. Lady Fawn and her daughters lived very much out of the world. They also were poor, rich people, if such a term may be used, and did not go much into society. There was a butler kept at Fawncourt, and a boy in buttons, and two gardeners, and a man to look after the cows, and a carriage and horses, and a fat coachman. There was a cook and a scullery maid, and two ladies' maids, who had to make the dresses, and two housemaids, and dairymaid. There was a large old brick-house to be kept in order, and handsome grounds with old trees. There was, as we know, a governess, and there were seven unmarried daughters. With such encumbrances and an income altogether not exceeding three thousand pounds per annum, Lady Fawn could not be rich. And yet who would say that an old lady and her daughters could be poor, with three thousand pounds a year to spend? It may be taken almost as a rule by the uninobled ones of this country, that the sudden possession of a title would at once raise the price of every article consumed twenty percent. Mutton that before cost nine pence would cost ten pence a pound, and the mouths to be fed would demand more meat. The chest of tea would run out quicker. The labourer's work, which for the farmer is ten hours a day, for the squire nine, is for the peer only eight. Miss Jones, when she becomes Lady de Jong, does not pay less than thruppants a piece for each my lady with which her ear is tickled. Even the baronet when he becomes a lord has to curtail his purchases, because of increased price, unless he be very wide awake to the affairs of the world. Old Lady Fawn, who would not on any account have owed a shilling which she could not pay, and who in the midst of her economies was not close-fisted, knew very well what she could do and what she could not. The old family carriage and the two ladies' maids were there, as necessaries of life, but London's society was not within her reach. It was therefore the case that they had not heard very much about Lizzie Eustace, but they had heard something. I hope she would be too fond of going out, said Amelia, the second girl. Or extravagant, said Georgina, the third. There was some story of her being terribly in debt when she married Sir Florian Eustace, said Diana, the fourth. Frederick will be sure to see to that, said Augusta, the eldest. She is very beautiful, said Lydia, the fifth. And clever, said Cecilia, the sixth. Beauty and cleverness won't make a good wife, said Amelia, who was the wise one of the family. Frederick will be sure to see that she doesn't go wrong, said Augusta, who was not wise. Then Lucy Morris entered the room with Nina, the cadet of the family. Oh, Nina, what do you think, said Lydia? My dear, said Lady Fawn, putting up her hand and stopping further in discreet speech. Oh, mamma, what is it? asked the cadet. Surely Lucy may be told, said Lydia. Well, yes, Lucy may be told, certainly. There can be no reason why Lucy should not know all that concerns our family, and them also, as she has been for many years, intimate with the lady. My dear, my son is going to be married to Lady Eustace. Lord Fawn going to marry Lucy, said Lucy Morris, in a tone which certainly did not express unmingled satisfaction. Unless you forbid the bans, said Diana. Is there any reason why he should not, said Lady Fawn? Oh, no, only it seems so odd. I didn't know that they knew each other. Not well, that is, and then—then what, my dear? It seems odd, that's all. It's all very nice, I daresay, and I am sure I hope they will be happy. Lady Fawn, however, was displeased, and did not speak to Lucy again before she started with Augusta on the journey to London. The carriage first stopped at the door of the married daughter in Warwick Square. Now Mrs. Hitway, whose husband was chairman of the Board of Civil Appeals, and who was very well known at all boards and among official men generally, said much more about things that were going on than did her mother, and having been emancipated from maternal control for the last ten or twelve years, she could express herself before her mother with more confidence than would have become the other girls. Mama, she said, you don't mean it. I do mean it, Clara, why should I not mean it? She is the greatest vixen in all London. Oh, Clara! said Augusta. And such a liar! said Mrs. Hitway. There came a look of pain across Lady Fawn's face, for Lady Fawn believed in her eldest daughter. But yet she intended to fight her ground on a matter so important to her as was this. There is no word in the English language, she said, which conveys to me so little of defined meaning as that word vixen. If you can, tell me what you mean, Clara. Stop it, Mama. But why should I stop it, even if I could? You don't know her, Mama. She has visited at Fawn Court more than once, and she is a friend of Lucy's. If she is a friend of Lucy Morris, Mama, Lucy Morris shall never come here. But what has she done? I've never heard that she has behaved improperly. What does it all mean? She goes out everywhere. I don't think she has any lovers. Frederick would be the last man in the world to throw himself away upon an ill-conditioned young woman. Frederick can see just as far as some other men, and not a bit farther. Of course she has an income for her life. I believe it is her own altogether, Clara. She says so I don't doubt. I believe she is the greatest liar about London. You find out about her jewels before she married Paul Siflorean, and how much he had to pay for her. Or rather, I'll find out. If you want to know, Mama, you just ask her own aunt, Lady Linniscoe. We all know my dear that Lady Linniscoe quarrelled with her. It's my belief that she is overhead and is in debt again. But I'll learn, and when I have found out I shall not scruple to tell Frederick. Orlando will find out all about it. Orlando was the Christian name of Mrs. Hitaway's husband. Mr. Camperdown, I have no doubt, knows all the ins and outs of her story. The long and the short of it is this, Mama, that I have heard quite enough about Lady Eustis to feel certain that Frederick would live to repent it. But what can we do? said Lady Fawn. Break it off! said Mrs. Hitaway. Her daughter's violence of speech had a most depressing effect upon poor Lady Fawn. As has been said, she did believe in Mrs. Hitaway. She knew that Mrs. Hitaway was conversant with the things of the world, and heard tidings daily which never found their way down to Fawn Court. And yet her son went about quite as much as did her daughter. If Lady Eustis was such a reprobator's was now represented, why had not Lord Fawn heard the truth? And then she had already given in her own adhesion and had promised to call.  As Lady Eustis certainly not. If Frederick does marry her, of course I must know her. That's a different thing. One has to make the best one can of a bad bargain. I don't doubt they'd be separated before two years were over. Oh dear, how dreadful! exclaimed Augusta. Lady Fawn, after much consideration, was of opinion that she must carry out her intention of calling upon her son's intended bride, in spite of all the evil things that had been said. Lord Fawn had undertaken to send a message to Mount Street informing the lady of the honour intended for her. And in truth Lady Fawn was somewhat curious now to see the household of the woman who might perhaps do her the irreparable injury of ruining the happiness of her only son. Perhaps she might learn something by looking at the woman in her own drawing-room. At any rate she would go. But Mrs. Hitterway's words had the effect of inducing her to leave Augusta where she was. If there were contamination why should Augusta be contaminated? Poor Augusta. She had looked forward to the delight of embracing her future sister-in-law, and would not have enjoyed it the less perhaps because she had been told that the lady was false, profligate, and a vixen. As, however, her position was that of a girl, she was bound to be obedient, though over thirty years old, and she obeyed. Lizzie was, of course, at home, and Miss McNulty was, of course, visiting the horticultural gardens, or otherwise engaged. On such an occasion Lizzie would certainly be alone. She had taken great pains with her dress, studying not so much her own appearance as the character of her visitor. She was very anxious, at any rate for the present, to win golden opinions from Lady Fawn. She was dressed richly, but very simply. Everything about her room betokened wealth, but she had put away the French novels, and had placed a Bible on a little table not quite hidden behind her own seat. The long, lustrous lock was tucked up, but the diamonds were still upon her fingers. She fully intended to make a conquest of her future mother-in-law and sister-in-law, for the note which had come up to her from the Indian office had told her that Augusta would accompany Lady Fawn. Augusta is my favourite sister, said the enamoured lover, and I hope that you two will always be friends. Lizzie, when she had read this, had declared to herself that of all the female oaths she had ever seen, Augusta Fawn was the greatest oath. When she found that Lady Fawn was alone, she did not betray herself or ask for the beloved friend of the future. Dear, dear Lady Fawn, she said, throwing herself into the arms and nestling herself against the bosom of the old lady. This makes my happiness perfect. Then she retreated a little, still holding the hand she had grasped between her own, and looking up into the face of her future mother-in-law. When he asked me to be his wife, the first thing I thought of was whether you would come to me at once. Her voice, as she thus spoke, was perfect. Her manner was almost perfect.  No suspicion, however, of all this would have touched Lady Fawn had she come to Mount Street without calling in Warwick Square on the way. But those horrible words of her daughter were ringing in her ears, and she did not know how to conduct herself. Of course I came as soon as he told me, she said.  Poor Lady Fawn! There was enough of maternity about her to have enabled her to undertake the duty for a dozen sons' wives, if the wives were women with whom she could feel sympathy. And she could feel sympathy very easily, and was a woman not at all prone to inquire too curiously as to the merits of a son's wife. But what was she to do after the caution she had received from Mrs. Hittaway? How was she to promise maternal tenderness to a vixen and a liar? By nature she was not a deceitful woman. My dear, she said, I hope you will make him a good wife. It was not very encouraging, but Lizzie made the best of it. It was her desire to cheat Lady Fawn into a good opinion, and she was not disappointed when no good opinion was expressed at once. It is seldom that a bad person expects to be accounted good. It is the general desire of such a one to conquer the existing evil impression. But it is generally presumed that the evil impression is there. Oh, Lady Fawn, she said, I will so strive to make him happy. What is it that he likes? What would he wish me to do and to be? You know his noble nature, and I must look to you for guidance. Lady Fawn was embarrassed. She had now seated herself on the sofa, and Lizzie was close to her, almost enveloped within her mantle. My dear, said Lady Fawn, if you will endeavour to do your duty by him, I am sure he will do his by you. I know it, I am sure of it, and I will, I will.  A peculiar perfume came up from Lizzie's hair, which Lady Fawn did not like. Her own girls perhaps were not given to the use of much perfumery. She shifted her seat a little, and Lizzie was compelled to sit upright and without support. Here the two Lady Fawn had said very little, and Lizzie's part was one difficult to play. She had heard of that sermon read every Sunday evening at Fawn Court, and she believed that Lady Fawn was peculiarly religious. There, she said, stretching out her hand backwards and clasping the book which lay upon the small table. There, that shall be my guide, that will teach me how to do my duty by my noble husband. Lady Fawn in some surprise took the book from Lizzie's hand, and found that it was the Bible. You certainly can't do better, my dear, than read your Bible," said Lady Fawn, but there was more of censure than of eulogy in the tone of her voice. She put the Bible down very quietly, and asked Lady Eustis when it would suit her to come down to Fawn Court. Lady Fawn had promised her son to give the invitation, and could not now, she thought, avoid giving it. Oh, I should like it so much, said Lizzie. Whenever it will suit you, I will be there at a moment's notice. It was then arranged that she should be at Fawn Court on that day week, and stay for a fortnight. Of all things that which I most desire now, said Lizzie, is to know you and the dear girls, and to be loved by you all. Lady Eustis, as soon as she was alone in the room, stood in the middle of it, scowling, for she could scowl.  If he don't like it, he may lump it. After all, it's no such great catch. Then she sat down to reflect whether it was or was not a catch. As soon as ever Lord Fawn had left her after the engagement was made, she had begun to tell herself that he was a poor creature, and that she had done wrong. Only five thousand a year, she said to herself, for she had not perfectly understood that little explanation which he had given respecting his income. It's nothing for a lord. And now, again, she murmured to herself, it's my money he's after. He'll find out that I know how to keep what I've got in my own hands. Now that Lady Fawn had been cold to her, she thought still less of the proposed marriage, but there was this inducement for her to go on with it. If they, the Fawn women, thought that they could break it off, she would let them know that they had no such power. Mama, you've seen her," said Mrs. Hittaway. Yes, my dear, I've seen her. I had seen her two or three times before, you know.  I never said that I was in love with her, Clara. And what has been fixed? She is to come down to Fawn Court next week and stay a fortnight with us. Then we shall find out what she is. That will be best, Mama," said Augusta. Mind, Mama, you understand me. I shall tell Frederick plainly just what I think. Of course he will be offended, and if the marriage goes on the offence will remain, till he finds out the truth. I hope he'll find out no such truth," said Lady Fawn. She was, however, quite unable to say a word in behalf of her future daughter-in-law. She said nothing as to that little scene with the Bible. But she never forgot it. During the remainder of that Monday, and all the Tuesday, Lizzie's mind was, upon the whole, averse to matrimony. She had told Miss McNulty of her prospects, with some amount of exultation, and the poor dependent, though she knew that she must be turned out into the street, had congratulated her patroness. The vultress will take you in again. When she knows you've nowhere else to go, Lizzie had said, displaying, indeed, some accurate discernment of her aunt's character. But, after Lady Fawn's visit, she spoke of the marriage in a different tone. Of course, my dear, I shall have to look very close after the settlement. I suppose the lawyers will do that," said Miss McNulty. Yes, lawyers, that's all very well. I know what lawyers are. I'm not going to trust any lawyer to give away my property. Of course, we shall live at Port Ray, because his place is in Ireland, and nothing shall take me to Ireland. I told him that from the very first. But I don't mean to give up my own income. I don't suppose he'll venture to such a thing. And there again she grumbled, It's all very well being in the Cabinet. Is Lord Fawn in the Cabinet? asked Miss McNulty, who in such matters was not altogether ignorant.  It may seem unjust to accuse her of being stupidly unacquainted with circumstances, and a liar at the same time. But she was both. She said that Lord Fawn was in the Cabinet, because she had heard someone speak of him as not being a Cabinet minister, and in so speaking, appeared to slight his political position. Lizzie did not know how much her companion knew. And Miss McNulty did not comprehend the depth of the ignorance of her patroness. Thus the lies which Lizzie told were amazing to Miss McNulty. To say that Lord Fawn was in the Cabinet, when all the world knew that he was an Undersecretary, what good could a woman get from an ascitation so plainly, so manifestly false? But Lizzie knew nothing of Undersecretaries. Lord Fawn was a Lord, and even commoners were in the Cabinet. Of course he is, said Lizzie, but I shan't have my drawing-room made a Cabinet. They shan't come here." And then again, on the Tuesday evening, she displayed her independence. As for those women down at Richmond, I don't mean to be overrun by them, I can tell you. I said I would go there, and, of course, I shall keep my word. I think you had better go," said Miss McNulty. Of course I shall go. I don't want anybody to tell me where I'm to go, my dear, and where I'm not, but it'll be about the first and the last visit. And as for bringing those dowdy girls out in London, it's the last thing I shall think of doing. Indeed, I doubt whether they can afford to dress themselves. As she went up to bed on the Tuesday evening, Miss McNulty doubted whether the match would go on. She never believed her friend's statements, but if spoken words might be besupposed to mean anything, Lady Eustace's words on that Tuesday betokened a strong dislike to everything appertaining to the Fawn family. She had even ridiculed Lord Fawn himself, declaring that he understood nothing about anything beyond his office.  All that she would gain did not seem to weigh down with sufficient preponderance all that she would lose. Such were her feelings on the Tuesday night. But on the Wednesday morning she received a note which threw her back violently upon the Fawn interest. The note was as follows. Miss Camperdown and Sun present their compliments to Lady Eustace. They have received instructions to proceed by law for the recovery of the Eustace diamonds, now in Lady Eustace's hands, and will feel obliged to Lady Eustace if she will communicate to them the name and address of her attorney. 62 New Square, May 30th, 1860 The effect of this note was to drive Lizzie back upon the Fawn interest. She was frightened about the diamonds, and was, nevertheless, almost determined not to surrender them. At any rate, in such a straight she would want assistance, either in keeping them or in giving them up. The lawyer's letter afflicted her with a sense of weakness, and there was strength in the Fawn connection. As Lord Fawn was so poor, perhaps he would adhere to the jewels. She knew that she could not fight Mr. Camperdown with no other assistance than what Mr. Mowbray and Mopus might give her, and therefore her heart softened towards her betrothed. I suppose Frederick will be here to-day, she said to Miss McNulty as they sat at breakfast together about noon. Miss McNulty nodded. You can have a cab, you know, if you like to go anywhere. Miss McNulty said that she thought she would go to the National Gallery.  I can walk there and back, too, said Miss McNulty, in regard to whom it may be said, the last ounce would sometimes almost break the horse's back. Frederick came, and was received very graciously. Lizzie had placed Mr. Camperdown's note on the little table behind her, beneath the Bible, so that she might put a hand upon it at once, if she could make an opportunity of showing it to her future husband. Frederick sat himself beside her, and the intercourse, for a while, was such as might be looked for between two lovers, of whom one was a widow, and the other an under-secretary of state from the India office. They were loving, but discreetly amateury, talking chiefly of things material, each flattering the other, and each hinting now, and again, at certain little circumstances of which a more accurate knowledge seemed to be desirable. The one was conversant with things in general, but was slow. The other was quick as a lizard in turning hither and thither, but knew almost nothing. When she told Lord Form that the airshare estate was her own to do what she liked with, she did not know that he would certainly find out the truth from other sources before he married her. Indeed, she was not quite sure herself whether the statement was true or false, though she would not have made it so frequently had her idea of the truth been a fixed idea. It had all been explained to her, but there had been something about a second son, and there was no second son. Perhaps she might have a second son yet, a future little Lord Form, and he might inherit it. In regard to honesty, the man was superior to the woman, because his purpose was declared, and he told no lies. But the one was as mercenary as the other. It was not love that had brought Lord Form to Mount Street.  There is no house, you know, but there was one, Frederick. The town-land where the house used to be is called Collegiate, the old demesany is called Collaud. What pretty names, and does it go great many miles. Lord Form explained that it did run a good many miles up into the mountains. How beautifully romantic said Lizzie, but the people live on the mountain and pay rent? Lord Form asked no such inept questions, respecting the airship property, but he did inquire who was Lizzie's solicitor. Of course, there will be things to be settled, he said, and my lawyer had better see yours. Mr. Camperdown is a—Mr. Camperdown! almost street Lizzie. Lord Form then explained, with some amazement, that Mr. Camperdown was his lawyer. As far as his belief went, there was not a more respectful gentleman in the profession. Then he inquired whether Lizzie had any objection to Mr. Camperdown. Mr. Camperdown was Sir Florian's lawyer, said Lizzie. That will make it all the easier, I should think, said Lord Form. I don't know how that may be, said Lizzie, trying to bring her mind to work upon the subject steadily. Mr. Camperdown has been very uncurchished to me. I must say that, and, as I think, unfair. He wishes to rob me now of a thing that is quite my own. What sort of a thing? asked Lord Form slowly. A very valuable thing. I'll tell you all about it, Frederick. Of course, I'll tell you everything now. I never could keep back anything from one that I loved. It's not my nature. There. You might as well read that note. Then she put her hand back and brought Mr. Camperdown's letter from under the Bible. Lord Form read it very attentively, and, as he read it, there came upon him a great doubt. What sort of woman was this to whom he had engaged himself because she was possessed of an income? That Mr. Camperdown should be in the wrong in such a matter was an idea which never occurred to Lord Form. There is no form of belief stronger than that of which the ordinary English gentleman has in the discretion and honesty of his own family lawyer. What his lawyer tells him to do, he does. What his lawyer tells him to sign, he signs. He buys and sells in obedience to the same direction, and feels perfectly comfortable in the possession of a guide who is responsible and all but divine. What diamonds are they? asked Lord Form in a very low voice. They are my own. All together my own. Sir Florian gave them to me. When he put them into my hands he said that they were to be my own for ever and ever. There, said he, those are yours to do what you choose with them. After that they oughtn't ask me to give them back, ought they. If you had been married before, and your wife had given you a keepsake to keep for ever and ever, would you give it up to a lawyer? You would not like it, would you, Frederick? She had put her hand on his, and was looking up into his face as she asked the question. Again, perhaps the acting was a little overdone, but there were the tears in her eyes, and the tone of her voice was perfect. Mr. Camperdown calls them Eustace's diamonds. Family diamonds, said Lord Form. What do they consist of? What are they worth? I'll show them to you, said Lizzie, jumping up and hurrying out of the room. Lord Form, when he was alone, rubbed his hands over his eyes, and thought about it all. It would be a very harsh measure on the part of the Eustace family and of Mr. Camperdown to demand from her the surrender of any trinket which her late husband might have given her in the manner she had described. But it was, to his thinking, most improbable that the Eustace's people, or the lawyer, should be harsh to a widow bearing the Eustace's name. The Eustaces were, by disposition, lavish, and old Mr. Camperdown was not one who would be strict in claiming little things for rich clients. And yet, here was his letter, threatening the widow of the late Baronet with legal proceedings for the recovery of jewels which had been given by Sir Florian himself to his wife as a keepsake. Perhaps Sir Florian had made some mistake, and it caused to be set in a ring or brooch for his bride some jewel which he had thought to be his own, but which had in truth been an heirloom. If so, the jewel should, of course, be surrendered, or replaced by one of equal value. He was making out some such solution when Lizzie returned, with the Morocco case in her hand. It was the manner in which he gave it to me, said Lizzie, as she opened the clasp, which makes its value to me. Lord Faun knew nothing about jewels, but even he knew that if the circle of stones which he saw, with a Maltese cross appended to it, was constituted of real diamonds, the thing must be of great value. And it heard to him at once that such a necklace is not given by a husband, even to a bride, in the manner described by Lizzie. A ring, or brooch, or perhaps a bracelet, a lover or a loving lord may bring in his pocket. But such an ornament as this, on which Lord Faun was now looking, is given in another sort of way. He felt sure that it was so, even though he was entirely ignorant of the value of the stones. Do you know what it is worth? he asked. Lizzie hesitated a moment, and then remembered that Frederick, in his present position in regard to herself, might be glad to assist her in maintaining the possession of a substantial property. I think they say its value is about ten thousand pounds, she replied, ten thousand pounds. Lord Faun riveted his eyes upon them. That's what I am told, by a jeweller, by what jeweller? A man had to come and see them, about some repairs, or something of that kind, poor Sir Florian wished it, and he said so. What was the man's name? I forget his name, said Lizzie, who was not quite sure whether her acquaintance with Mr. Benjamin would be considered respectable. Ten thousand pounds. You don't keep them in the house, do you? I have an iron case upstairs for them, ever so heavy. And did Sir Florian give you the iron case? Lizzie hesitated for a moment. Yes, said she. That is, no, but he ordered it to be made, then it came, after he was dead. He knew their value then. Oh, dear, yes! though he never named any sum, he told me, however, that they were very, very valuable. Lord Faun did not immediately recognise the falseness of every word that the woman said to him, because he was slow, and could not think and hear at the same time. But he was at once involved in a painful maze of doubt, and almost of dismay. An action for the recovery of Jaws brought against the lady whom he was engaged to marry, on behalf of the family of her late husband, would not suit him at all. To have his hands quite clean, to be above all evil report, to be respectable as it were, all round, was Lord Faun's special ambition. He was a poor man, and a greedy man, but he would have abandoned his official salary at a moment's notice, rather than there should have fallen on him a breath of public opinion, hinting that it ought to be abandoned. He was especially timid, and lived in a perpetual fear, lest the newspapers should say something hard of him. In that matter of the swab he had been very wretched, because Frank Greystock had accused him of being an administrator of tyranny. He would have liked his wife to have ten thousand pounds worth of diamonds very well.  I think," said he at last, that if you were to put them into Mr. Camperdown's hands, into Mr. Camperdown's hands, and then let the matter be settled by arbitration, that means going to law. No, dearest, that means not going to law. The diamonds would be entrusted to Mr. Camperdown, and then some one would be appointed to decide whose property they were. But they're my property," said Lizzie. But he says they belong to the family. He'll say anything, said Lizzie. My dearest girl, there can't be a more respectable man than Mr. Camperdown. You must do something of the kind, you know. I shan't do anything of the kind, said Lizzie. Sir Florian Eustace gave them to me, and I shall keep them. She did not look at her lover as she spoke. But he looked at her, and did not like the change which she saw on her countenance. And he did not like the circumstances in which he found himself placed. Why should Mr. Camperdown into fear? continued Lizzie. If they don't belong to me, they belong to my son, and who has so good a right to keep them for him as I have? But they belong to me. They should not be kept in a private house like this at all, if they are worth all that money. If I were to let them go, Mr. Camperdown would get them. There's nothing he wouldn't do to get them. Oh, Frederick, I hope you'll stand to me and not see me injured, because I only want them for my darling child. Frederick's face had become very long, and he was much disturbed in his mind. He could only suggest that he himself would go and see Mr. Camperdown, and ascertain what ought to be done. To the last, he adhered to his assurance that Mr. Camperdown could do no evil. To Lizzie, in her wrath, asked him whether he believed Mr. Camperdown's word before hers. I think he would understand a matter of business better than you, said the prudent lover. He wants to rob me, said Lizzie, and I shall look to you to prevent it. When Lord Fawn took his leave, which he did not do till he had counseled her again and again to leave the matter in Mr. Camperdown's hands, the two were not in good accord together. It was his fixed purpose, as he declared to her, to see Mr. Camperdown, and it was her fixed purpose, so at least she declared to him to keep the diamonds in spite of Mr. Camperdown. But my dear, if it's decided against you, said Lord Fawn gravely, it can't be decided against me if you stand by me as you ought to. I can do nothing, said Lord Fawn in tremor. Then Lizzie looked at him, and her look, which was very eloquent, called him a paltrune as plain as a look could speak. Then they parted, and the signs of affection between them were not satisfactory. The door was hardly closed behind him before Lizzie began to declare to herself that he shouldn't escape her. It was not yet twenty-four hours since she had been telling herself that she did not like the engagement, and would break it off. And now she was stamping her little feet, and clenching her little hands, and swearing to herself by all her gods that this wretched, timid lordling should not get out of her net. She did, in truth, despise him, because he would not clutch the jewels. She looked upon him as mean and paltry, because he was willing to submit to Mr. Camperdown. But still she was prompted to demand all that could be demanded from her engagement, because she thought that she perceived as something in him which might produce in him a desire to be relieved from it. No, he should not be relieved. He should marry her, and she would keep the key of that iron box with the diamonds, and he should find what sort of a noise she would make if he attempted to take it from her. She closed the Morocco case, ascended with it to her bedroom, locked it up in the iron safe, deposited the little patterned key in its usual place around her neck, and then seated herself at her desk, and wrote letters to her various friends, making known to them her engagement. I cannot say that you are very kind to me, and I don't suppose you care very much what becomes of me, but I think it right to let you know that I am going to be married. I am engaged to Lord Fawn, who, as you know, is a peer, and a member of Her Majesty's government, and a nobleman of great influence. I do not suppose that even you can say anything against such an alliance. I am your affectionate niece, Elizabeth Eustace. Then she wrote to Mrs Eustace, the wife of the Bishop of Bobsborough. Mrs Eustace had been very kind to her in the first days of her widowhood, and had fully recognised her as the widow of the head of her husband's family. Lizzie had liked none of the Bobsborough people. They were, according to her ideas, slow, respectable, and dull. But they had not found much open fault with her, and she was aware that it was for her interest to remain on good terms with them. Her letter, therefore, to Mrs Eustace, was somewhat less accurate than that written to her aunt, Linlithgow. My dear Mrs Eustace, I hope you will be glad to hear from me, and will not be sorry to hear my news. I am going to be married again. Of course, I am not about to take a step, which is in every way so very important, without thinking about it a great deal. But I am sure it will be better for my darling little Florian every way, and, as for myself, I have felt for the last two years how unfitted I have been to manage everything myself. I have therefore accepted an offer made to me by Lord Fawn, who is, as you know, a peer of Parliament, and a most distinguished member of Her Majesty's Government, and he is, too, a nobleman of very great influence in every respect, and has a property in Ireland, extending over ever so many miles, and running up into the mountains. His mansion there is called Kilmage, but I am not sure that I remember the name quite rightly. I hope I may see you there some day, and the dear Bishop. I look forward with delight to doing something to make those dear Irish happier. The idea of rambling up into our own mountains charms me, for nothing suits my disposition so well as that kind of solitude. Of course, Lord Fawn is not so rich a man as Sir Florian, but I have never looked riches for my happiness. Not but what Lord Fawn has a good income from his Irish estates, and then, of course, he is paid for doing Her Majesty's Government, so there is no fear that he will have to live upon my jointure, which, of course, would not be right. Pray, tell the dear Bishop, and dear Margarita, all this, with my love. You will be happy, I know, to hear that my little flow is quite well. He is already so fond of his new Papa. Liz's turn for her lying was exemplified in this last statement, for, as it happened, Lord Fawn had never yet seen the child. Believe me to be always your most affectionate niece, Elizabeth Eustace. There were two other letters, one to her uncle, the Dean, and the other to her cousin, Frank. There was a great doubt in her mind as to the expediency of writing to Frank Greystock, but at last she decided that she would do it. The letter to the Dean needed not to be given in full, as it was very similar to that written to the Bishop's wife. The same mention was made of her intended husband's peerage, and the same allusion to Her Majesty's Government, a phrase which she had heard from Lord Fawn himself. She spoke of the Irish property, but in terms less glowing than she had used in writing to the lady, and ended by asking for her uncle's congratulation and blessing. Her letter to Frank was as follows, and doubtless as she wrote it, there was presence to her mind a remembrance of the fact that he himself might have offered to her, and have had her, if he would. My dear cousin, as I would rather that you should hear my news from myself than from anyone else, I write to tell you that I am going to be married to Lord Fawn. Of course, I know that there are certain matters as to which you and Lord Fawn do not agree in politics, I mean, but still I do not doubt that you will think that he is quite able to take care of your poor little cousin. It was only settled a day or two since, but it has been coming on ever so long. You understand all about that, don't you? Of course you must come to my wedding, and be very good to me, a kind of brother, you know, for we have always been friends, haven't we? And if the dean doesn't come up to town, you must give me away, and you must come and see me ever so often, for I have a sort of feeling that I have no one else belonging to me that I can call really my own, except you, and you must be great friends with Lord Fawn and must give up saying that he doesn't do his work properly, of course he does everything better than anybody else could possibly do it, except cousin Frank. I am going down next week to Richmond. Lady Fawn has insisted on my staying there for a fortnight. Oh, dear, what shall I do all the time? You must positively come down and see me, and see somebody else too.   Somebody, in speaking on Lady Eustace's behalf, and making the best of her virtues, had declared that she did not have lovers. Here the two that had been true of her, but her mind had not the less dwelt on the delight of a lover. She still thought of a possible causeur who would be willing to give up all but his vices for her love, and for whose sake she would be willing to share even them. It was but a dream, but nevertheless it pervaded her fancy constantly. Lord Fawn, peer of Parliament, and member of Her Majesty's government as he was, could not have been such a lover to her. Might it not be possible that there should exist something of romance between her and her cousin Frank? She was the last woman in the world to run away with a man, or to endanger her position by a serious indiscretion. But there might, perhaps, be something between her and her cousin. A liaison quite correct in its facts, a secret understanding, if nothing more, a mutual sympathy which should be chiefly shown in the abuse of all their friends, and in this she could indulge her passion for romance and poetry. End of CHAPTER X