Lucy Morris went to Lady Linlithgow early in October, and was still with Lady Linlithgow when Lizzie Eustace returned to London in January. During these three months she certainly had not been happy. In the first place, she had not once seen her lover. This had aroused no anger or suspicion in her bosom against him, because the old countess had told her that she would have no lover come to the house, and that, above all, she would not allow a young man with whom she herself was connected to come in that guise to her companion. “From all I hear,” said Lady Linlithgow, “it’s not at all likely to be a match; and at any rate it can’t go on here.” Lucy thought that she would be doing no more than standing up properly for her lover by asserting her conviction that it would be a match; and she did assert it bravely; but she made no petition for his presence, and bore that trouble bravely. In the next place, Frank was not a satisfactory correspondent. He did write to her occasionally; and he wrote also to the old countess immediately on his return to town from Bobsborough a letter which was intended as an answer to that which she had written to Mrs. Greystock. What was said in that letter Lucy never knew; but she did know that Frank’s few letters to herself were not full and hearty — were not such thorough-going love-letters as lovers write to each other when they feel unlimited satisfaction in the work. She excused him, telling herself that he was overworked, that with his double trade of legislator and lawyer he could hardly be expected to write letters, that men, in respect of letter-writing, are not as women are, and the like; but still there grew at her heart a little weed of care, which from week to week spread its noxious, heavy-scented leaves, and robbed her of her joyousness. To be loved by her lover, and to feel that she was his, to have a lover of her own to whom she could thoroughly devote herself, to be conscious that she was one of those happy women in the world who find a mate worthy of worship as well as love — this to her was so great a joy that even the sadness of her present position could not utterly depress her. From day to day she assured herself that she did not doubt and would not doubt-that there was no cause for doubt; that she would herself be base were she to admit any shadow of suspicion. But yet his absence, and the shortness of those little notes, which came perhaps once a fortnight, did tell upon her in opposition to her own convictions. Each note as it came was answered — instantly; but she would not write except when the notes came. She would not seem to reproach him by writing oftener than he wrote. When he had given her so much, and she had nothing but her confidence to give in return, would she stint him in that? There can be no love, she said, without confidence, and it was the pride of her heart to love him.

The circumstances of her present life were desperately weary to her. She could hardly understand why it was that Lady Linlithgow should desire her presence. She was required to do nothing. She had no duties to perform, and, as it seemed to her, was of no use to any one. The countess would not even allow her to be of ordinary service in the house. Lady Linlithgow, as she had said of herself, poked her own fires, carved her own meat, lit her own candles, opened and shut the doors for herself, wrote her own letters, and did not even like to have books read to her. She simply chose to have some one sitting with her to whom she could speak and make little cross-grained, sarcastic, and ill-natured remarks. There was no company at the house in Brook Street, and when the countess herself went out, she went out alone. Even when she had a cab to go shopping, or to make calls, she rarely asked Lucy to go with her; and was benevolent chiefly in this — that if Lucy chose to walk round the square or as far as the park, her ladyship’s maid was allowed to accompany her for protection. Poor Lucy often told herself that such a life would be unbearable, were it not for the supreme satisfaction she had in remembering her lover. And then the arrangement had been made only for six months. She did not feel quite assured of her fate at the end of those six months, but she believed that there would come to her a residence in a sort of outer garden to that sweet Elysium in which she was to pass her life. The Elysium would be Frank’s house; and the outer garden was the deanery at Bobsborough.

Twice during the three months Lady Fawn, with two of the girls, came to call upon her. On the first occasion she was unluckily out, taking advantage of the protection of her ladyship’s maid in getting a little air. Lady Linlithgow had also been away, and Lady Fawn had seen no one. Afterwards, both Lucy and her ladyship were found at home, and Lady Fawn was full of graciousness and affection. “I dare say you’ve got something to say to each other,” said Lady Linlithgow, “and I’ll go away.”

“Pray don’t let us disturb you,” said Lady Fawn.

“You’d only abuse me if I didn’t,” said Lady Linlithgow.

As soon as she was gone Lucy rushed into her friend’s arms. “It is so nice to see you again!”

“Yes, my dear, isn’t it? I did come before, you know.”

“You have been so good to me! To see you again is like the violets and primroses.” She was crouching close to Lady Fawn, with her hand in that of her friend Lydia. “I haven’t a word to say against Lady Linlithgow, but it is like winter here, after dear Richmond.”

“Well, we think we’re prettier at Richmond,” said Lady Fawn.

“There were such hundreds of things to do there,” said Lucy. “After all, what a comfort it is to have things to do.”

“Why did you come away?” said Lydia.

“Oh, I was obliged. You mustn’t scold me now that you have come to see me.”

There were a hundred things to be said about Fawn Court and the children, and a hundred more things about Lady Linlithgow and Bruton Street. Then, at last, Lady Fawn asked the one important question. “And now, my dear, what about Mr. Greystock?”

“Oh, I don’t know; nothing particular, Lady Fawn. It’s just as it was, and I am — quite satisfied.”

“You see him sometimes?”

“No, never. I have not seen him since the last time he came down to Richmond. Lady Linlithgow doesn’t allow — followers.” There was a pleasant little spark of laughter in Lucy’s eye as she said this, which would have told to any bystander the whole story of the affection which existed between her and Lady Fawn.

“That’s very ill-natured,” said Lydia.

“And he’s a sort of a cousin, too,” said Lady Fawn.

“That’s just the reason why,” said Lucy, explaining. “Of course Lady Linlithgow thinks that her sister’s nephew can do better than marry her companion. It’s a matter of course she should think so. What I am most afraid of is that the dean and Mrs. Greystock should think so too.”

No doubt the dean and Mrs. Greystock would think so. Lady Fawn was very sure of that. Lady Fawn was one of the best women breathing, unselfish, motherly, affectionate, appreciative, and never happy unless she was doing good to somebody. It was her nature to be soft, and kind, and beneficent. But she knew very well that if she had had a son, a second son, situated as was Frank Greystock, she would not wish him to marry a girl without a penny, who was forced to earn her bread by being a governess. The sacrifice on Mr. Greystock’s part would, in her estimation, be so great, that she did not believe that it would be made. Womanlike, she regarded the man as being so much more important than the woman that she could not think that Frank Greystock would devote himself simply to such a one as Lucy Morris. Had Lady Fawn been asked which was the better creature of the two, her late governess or the rising barrister who had declared himself to be that governess’s lover, she would have said that no man could be better than Lucy. She knew Lucy’s worth and goodness so well that she was ready herself to do any act of friendship on behalf of one so sweet and excellent. For herself and her girls Lucy was a companion and friend in every way satisfactory. But was it probable that a man of the world, such as was Frank Greystock, a rising man, a member of Parliament, one who, as everybody knew, was especially in want of money — was it probable that such a man as this would make her his wife just because she was good, and worthy, and sweet-natured? No doubt the man had said that he would do so, and Lady Fawn’s fears betrayed on her ladyship’s part a very bad opinion of men in general. It may seem to be a paradox to assert that such bad opinion sprang from the high idea which she entertained of the importance of men in general; but it was so. She had but one son, and of all her children he was the least worthy; but he was more important to her than all her daughters. Between her own girls and Lucy she hardly made any difference; but when her son had chosen to quarrel with Lucy, it had been necessary to send Lucy to eat her meals up-stairs. She could not believe that Mr. Greystock should think so much of such a little girl as to marry her. Mr. Greystock would no doubt behave very badly in not doing so; but then men do so often behave very badly! And at the bottom of her heart she almost thought that they might be excused for doing so. According to her view of things, a man out in the world had so many things to think of, and was so very important, that he could hardly be expected to act at all times with truth and sincerity.

Lucy had suggested that the dean and Mrs. Greystock would dislike the marriage, and upon that hint Lady Fawn spoke. “Nothing is settled, I suppose, as to where you are to go when the six months are over?”

“Nothing as yet, Lady Fawn.”

“They haven’t asked you to go to Bobsborough?”

Lucy would have given the world not to blush as she answered, but she did blush. “Nothing is fixed, Lady Fawn.”

“Something should be fixed, Lucy. It should be settled by this time, shouldn’t it, dear? What will you do without a home, if at the end of the six months Lady Linlithgow should say that she doesn’t want you any more?”

Lucy certainly did not look forward to a condition in which Lady Linlithgow should be the arbitress of her destiny. The idea of staying with the countess was almost as bad to her as that of finding herself altogether homeless. She was still blushing, feeling herself to be hot and embarrassed. But Lady Fawn sat waiting for an answer. To Lucy there was only one answer possible. “I will ask Mr. Greystock what I am to do.” Lady Fawn shook her head. “You don’t believe in Mr. Greystock, Lady Fawn; but I do.”

“My darling girl,” said her ladyship, making the special speech for the sake of making which she had travelled up from Richmond, “it is not exactly a question of belief, but one of common prudence. No girl should allow herself to depend on a man before she is married to him. By doing so she will be apt to lose even his respect.”

“I didn’t mean for money,” said Lucy, hotter than ever, with her eyes full of tears.

“She should not be in any respect at his disposal till he has bound himself to her at the altar. You may believe me, Lucy, when I tell you so. It is only because I love you so that I say so.”

“I know that, Lady Fawn.”

“When your time here is over, just put up your things and come back to Richmond. You need fear nothing with us. Frederic quite liked your way of parting with him at last, and all that little affair is forgotten. At Fawn Court you’ll be safe; and you shall be happy, too, if we can make you happy. It’s the proper place for you.”

“Of course you’ll come,” said Diana Fawn.

“You’ll be the worst little thing in the world if you don’t,” said Lydia. “We don’t know what to do without you. Do we, mamma?”

“Lucy will please us all by coming back to her old home,” said Lady Fawn. The tears were now streaming down Lucy’s face, so that she was hardly able to say a word in answer to all this kindness. And she did not know what word to say. Were she to accept the offer made to her, and acknowledge that she could do nothing better than creep back under her old friend’s wing, would she not thereby be showing that she doubted her lover? But she could not go to the dean’s house unless the ............