Lizzie Eustace did not hear this; but knowing very well that a governess should not receive a lover in the absence of the lady of the house, she made her little speech about it. “Dear Lady Fawn,” she said, “my cousin Frank came to see me while you were out.”
“So I hear,” said Lady Fawn.
“Frank and I are more like brother and sister than anything else. I had so much to say to him;—so much to ask him to do! I have no one else, you know, and I had especially told him to come here.”
“Of course he was welcome to come.”
“Only I was afraid you might think that there was some little lover’s trick—on dear Lucy’s part, you know.”
“I never suspect anything of that kind,” said Lady Fawn, bridling up. “Lucy Morris is above any sort of trick. We don’t have any tricks here, Lady Eustace.” Lady Fawn herself might say that Lucy was “wrong,” but no one else in that house should even suggest evil of Lucy. Lizzie retreated smiling. To have “put Lady Fawn’s back up,” as she called it, was to her an achievement and a pleasure.
But the great excitement of the evening consisted in the expected coming of Lord Fawn. Of what nature would be the meeting between Lord Fawn and his promised bride? Was there anything of truth in the opinion expressed by Mrs. Hittaway that her brother was beginning to become tired of his bargain? That Lady Fawn was tired of it herself—that she disliked Lizzie, and was afraid of her, and averse to the idea of regarding her as a daughter-in-law—she did not now attempt to hide from herself. But there was the engagement, known to all the world, and how could its fulfilment now be avoided? The poor dear old woman began to repeat to herself the first half of the Quaker’s advice, “Doan’t thou marry for munny.”
Lord Fawn was to come down only in time for a late dinner. An ardent lover, one would have thought, might have left his work somewhat earlier on a Saturday, so as to have enjoyed with his sweetheart something of the sweetness of the Saturday summer afternoon;—but it was seven before he reached Fawn Court, and the ladies were at that time in their rooms dressing. Lizzie had affected to understand all his reasons for being so late, and had expressed herself as perfectly satisfied. “He has more to do than any of the others,” she had said to Augusta. “Indeed, the whole of our vast Indian empire may be said to hang upon him, just at present;”—which was not complimentary to Lord Fawn’s chief, the Right Honourable Legge Wilson, who at the present time represented the interests of India in the Cabinet. “He is terribly overworked, and it is a shame;—but what can one do?”
“I think he likes work,” Augusta had replied.
“But I don’t like it—not so much of it; and so I shall make him understand, my dear. But I don’t complain. As long as he tells me everything, I will never really complain.” Perhaps it might some day be as she desired; perhaps as a husband he would be thoroughly confidential and communicative; perhaps when they two were one flesh he would tell her everything about India;—but as yet he certainly had not told her much.
“How had they better meet?” Amelia asked her mother.
“Oh;—I don’t know;—anyhow; just as they like. We can’t arrange anything for her. If she had chosen to dress herself early, she might have seen him as he came in; but it was impossible to tell her so.” No arrangement was therefore made, and as all the other ladies were in the drawing-room before Lizzie came down, she had to give him his welcome in the midst of the family circle. She did it very well. Perhaps she had thought of it, and made her arrangements. When he came forward to greet her, she put her cheek up, just a little, so that he might see that he was expected to kiss it;—but so little, that should he omit to do so, there might be no visible awkwardness. It must be acknowledged on Lizzie’s behalf, that she could always avoid awkwardness. He did touch her cheek with his lips, blushing as he did so. She had her ungloved hand in his, and, still holding him, returned into the circle. She said not a word; and what he said was of no moment;—but they had met as lovers, and any of the family who had allowed themselves to imagine that even yet the match might be broken, now unconsciously abandoned that hope. “Was he always such a truant, Lady Fawn?”—Lizzie asked, when it seemed to her that no one else would speak a word.
“I don’t know that there is much difference,” said Lady Fawn. “Here is dinner. Frederic, will you give—Lady Eustace your arm?” Poor Lady Fawn! It often came to pass that she was awkward.
There were no less than ten females sitting round the board, at the bottom of which Lord Fawn took his place. Lady Fawn had especially asked Lucy to come in to dinner, and with Lucy had come the two younger girls. At Lord Fawn’s right hand sat Lizzie, and Augusta at his left. Lady Fawn had Amelia on one side and Lucy on the other. “So Mr. Greystock was here today,” Lady Fawn whispered into Lucy’s ear.
“Yes; he was here.”
“Oh, Lucy!”
“I did not bid him come, Lady Fawn.”
“I am sure of that, my dear;—but—but—” Then there was no more to be said on that subject on that occasion.
During the whole of the dinner the conversation was kept up at the other end of the table by Lizzie talking to Augusta across her lover. This was done in such a manner as to seem to include Lord Fawn in every topic discussed. Parliament, India, the Sawab, Ireland, the
