The Eustace Diamonds

at the moment was standing at a table on which were spread an infinity of books, became at once as white as a sheet. Her fast friend, Lydia Fawn, who was standing by her, immediately took hold of her hand quite tightly. The face of the maid was fit for a funeral. She knew that Miss Morris had had a “follower,”⁠—that the follower had come⁠—and that then Miss Morris had gone away. Miss Morris had been allowed to come back; and now, on the very first day, just when my lady’s back was turned, here was the follower again! Before she had come up with her message, there had been an unanimous expression of opinion in the kitchen that the fat would all be in the fire. Lucy was as white as marble, and felt such a sudden shock at her heart, that she could not speak. And yet she never doubted for a moment that Frank Greystock was the man. And with what purpose but one could he have come there? She had on the old, old frock in which, before her visit to Lady Linlithgow, she used to pass the morning amidst her labours with the girls⁠—a pale, grey, well-worn frock, to which must have been imparted some attraction from the milliner’s art, because everybody liked it so well⁠—but which she had put on this very morning as a testimony, to all the world around her, that she had abandoned the idea of being anything except a governess. Lady Fawn had understood the frock well. “Here is the dear little old woman just the same as ever,” Lydia had said, embracing her. “She looks as if she’d gone to bed before the winter, and had a long sleep, like a dormouse,” said Cecilia. Lucy had liked it all, and thoroughly appreciated the loving-kindness; but she had known what it all meant. She had left them as the engaged bride of Mr. Greystock, the member for Bobsborough; and now she had come back as Lucy Morris, the governess, again. “Just the same as ever,” Lucy had said, with the sweetest smile. They all understood that, in so saying, she renounced her lover.

And now there stood the maid, inside the room, who, having announced that there was a gentleman asking for Miss Morris, was waiting for an answer. Was the follower to be sent about his business, with a flea in his ear, having come, slyly, craftily, and wickedly, in Lady Fawn’s absence; or would Miss Morris brazen it out, and go and see him?

“Who is the gentleman?” asked Diana, who was the eldest of the Fawn girls present.

“It’s he as used to come after Miss Morris before,” said the maid.

“It is Mr. Greystock,” said Lucy, recovering herself with an effort. “I had better go down to him. Will you tell him, Mary, that I’ll be with him almost immediately?”

“You ought to have put on the other frock, after all,” said Nina, whispering into her ear.

“He has not lost much time in coming to see you,” said Lydia.

“I suppose it was all because he didn’t like Lady Linlithgow,” said Cecilia. Lucy had not a word to say. She stood for a minute among them, trying to think, and then she slowly left the room.

She would not condescend to alter her dress by the aid of a single pin, or by the adjustment of a ribbon. It might well be that, after the mingled work and play of the morning, her hair should not be smooth; but she was too proud to look at her hair. The man whom she had loved, who had loved her but had neglected her, was in the house. He would surely not have followed her thither did he not intend to make reparation for his neglect. But she would use no art with him;⁠—nor would she make any entreaty. It might be that, after all, he had the courage to come and tell her, in a manly, straightforward way, that the thing must be all over⁠—that he had made a mistake, and would beg her pardon. If it were so, there should be no word of reproach. She would be quite quiet with him; but there should be no word of reproach. But if⁠—In that other case she could not be sure of her behaviour, but she knew well that he would not have to ask long for forgiveness. As for her dress⁠—he had chosen to love her in that frock before, and she did not think that he would pay much attention to her dress on the present occasion.

She opened the door very quietly and very slowly, intending to approach him in the same way. But in a moment, before she could remember that she was in the room, he had seized her in his arms, and was showering kisses upon her forehead, her eyes, and her lips. When she thought of it afterwards, she could not call to mind a single word that he had spoken before he held her in his embrace. It was she, surely, who had spoken first, when she begged to be released from his pressure. But she well remembered the first words that struck her ear. “Dearest Lucy, will you forgive me?” She could only answer them through her tears by taking up his hand and kissing it.

When Lady Fawn came back with the carriage, she herself saw the figures of two persons, walking very close together, in the shrubberies. “Is that Lucy?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Augusta, with a tone of horror. “Indeed it is, and⁠—Mr. Greystock.”

Lady Fawn was neither shocked nor displeased; nor was she disappointed; but a certain faint feeling of being ill-used by circumstances came over her. “Dear me;⁠—the very first day!” she said.

“It’s because he wouldn’t go to Lady Linlithgow’s,” said Amelia. “He has only waited, mamma.”

“But the very first day!” exclaimed Lady Fawn. “I hope Lucy will be happy;⁠—that’s all.”

There was a great meeting of all the Fawns, as soon as Lady Fawn