The Eustace Diamonds

her fellow-creatures⁠—not somebody in the way of marrying a lord or a rich man, or somebody in the way of being a beauty, or somebody as a wit; but somebody as having a purpose and a use in life. She was the humblest little thing in the world in regard to any possible putting of herself forward or needful putting of herself back; and yet, to herself, nobody was her superior. What she had was her own, whether it was the old grey silk dress which she had bought with the money she had earned, or the wit which nature had given her. And Lord Fawn’s title was his own, and Lady Fawn’s rank her own. She coveted no man’s possessions⁠—and no woman’s; but she was minded to hold by her own. Of present advantages or disadvantages⁠—whether she had the one or suffered from the other⁠—she thought not at all. It was her fault that she had nothing of feminine vanity. But no man or woman was ever more anxious to be effective, to persuade, to obtain belief, sympathy, and cooperation;⁠—not for any result personal to herself, but because, by obtaining these things, she could be effective in the object then before her, be it what it might.

One other thing may be told of her. She had given her heart⁠—for good and all, as she owned to herself⁠—to Frank Greystock. She had owned to herself that it was so, and had owned to herself that nothing could come of it. Frank was becoming a man of mark⁠—but was becoming a man of mark without much money. Of all men he was the last who could afford to marry a governess. And then, moreover, he had never said a word to make her think that he loved her. He had called on her once or twice at Fawn Court⁠—as why should he not? Seeing that there had been friendship between the families for so many years, who could complain of that? Lady Fawn, however, had⁠—not complained, but just said a word. A word in season, how good is it? Lucy did not much regard the word spoken to herself; but when she reflected that a word must also have been spoken to Mr. Greystock⁠—otherwise how should it have been that he never came again?⁠—that she did not like.

In herself she regarded this passion of hers as a healthy man regards the loss of a leg or an arm. It is a great nuisance, a loss that maims the whole life⁠—a misfortune to be much regretted. But because a leg is gone, everything is not gone. A man with a wooden leg may stump about through much action, and may enjoy the keenest pleasures of humanity. He has his eyes left to him, and his ears, and his intellect. He will not break his heart for the loss of that leg. And so it was with Lucy Morris. She would still stump about and be very active. Eyes, ears, and intellect were left to her. Looking at her position, she told herself that a happy love could hardly have been her lot in life. Lady Fawn, she thought, was right. A governess should make up her mind to do without a lover. She had given away her heart, and yet she would do without a lover. When, on one dull, dark afternoon, as she was thinking of all this, Lord Fawn suddenly put into her hands a cruelly long printed document respecting the Sawab, she went to work upon it immediately. As she read it, she could not refrain from thinking how wonderfully Frank Greystock would plead the cause of the Indian prince, if the privilege of pleading it could be given to him.

The spring had come round, with May and the London butterflies, at the time at which our story begins, and during six months Frank Greystock had not been at Fawn Court. Then one day Lady Eustace came down with her ponies, and her footman, and a new dear friend of hers, Miss Macnulty. While Miss Macnulty was being honoured by Lady Fawn, Lizzie had retreated to a corner with her old dear friend Lucy Morris. It was pretty to see how so wealthy and fashionable a woman as Lady Eustace could show so much friendship to a governess. “Have you seen Frank, lately?” said Lady Eustace, referring to her cousin the barrister.

“Not for ever so long,” said Lucy, with her cheeriest smile.

“He is not going to prove a false knight?” asked Lady Eustace, in her lowest whisper.

“I don’t know that Mr. Greystock is much given to knighthood at all,” said Lucy⁠—“unless it is to being made Sir Francis by his party.”

“Nonsense, my dear; as if I didn’t know. I suppose Lady Fawn has been interfering⁠—like an old cat as she is.”

“She is not an old cat, Lizzie! and I won’t hear her called so. If you think so, you shouldn’t come here. And she hasn’t interfered. That is, she has done nothing that she ought not to have done.”

“Then she has interfered,” said Lady Eustace, as she got up and walked across the room, with a sweet smile to the old cat.

IV

Frank Greystock

Frank Greystock the barrister was the only son of the Dean of Bobsborough. Now the dean had a family of daughters⁠—not quite so numerous indeed as that of Lady Fawn, for there were only three of them⁠—and was by no means a rich man. Unless a dean have a private fortune, or has chanced to draw the happy lot of Durham in the lottery of deans, he can hardly be wealthy. At Bobsborough the dean was endowed with a large, rambling, picturesque, uncomfortable house, and with £1,500 a year. In regard to personal property it may be asserted of all the Greystocks that they never had any. They were a family of which the males would surely come to be deans and admirals, and the females would certainly find husbands.