“You see, for a peer, the fortune is very small indeed.”
“But then you have a salary;—don’t you?”
“At present 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.
“Thank you,” said Lord Fawn. “I’m afraid, however, there are a 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—I—I—. In short you know what I mean.”
“Oh, Lord Fawn!”
“I have told you everything. I owe 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 are determined never to marry again. I can only say that if you will trust yourself to me—yourself and your child—I will do my duty truly by you both, and will make your happiness the chief object of my existence.” 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 of 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 over 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 Fawn,” 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 secondly—”
“Why secondly?”
“Secondly, because I can love you.” This was said in her lowest whisper, and then she moved towards him gently, and almost laid her head upon his breast. Of course he put his arm round her waist—but it was first necessary that he should once more disembarrass himself of his hat—and then her head was upon his breast. “Dearest Lizzie!” he said.
“Dearest Frederic!” she murmured.
“I shall write to my mother tonight,” he said.
“Do, do;—dear Frederic.”
“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 Fawn!” she said to herself. The name did not sound so well as that of Lady Eustace. But it is much to be a wife; and more to be a peeress.
IX
Showing What the Miss Fawns Said,
and What Mrs. Hittaway Thought
In the way of duty Lord Fawn was 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 Eustace, he was with his mother at Fawn 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 an 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 Fawn thought a great deal about money. Being a poor man, filling 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 closefisted. 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
