And then there was something said as to their own prospects in life. Lucy at once and with vehemence declared that she did not look for or expect an immediate marriage. She did not scruple to tell him that she knew well how difficult was the task before him, and that it might be essential for his interest that he should remain as he was for a year or two. He was astonished to find how completely she understood his position, and how thoroughly she sympathised with his interests. “There is only one thing I couldn’t do for you,” she said.
“And what is the one thing?”
“I couldn’t give you up. I almost thought that I ought to refuse you because I can do nothing—nothing to help you. But there will always come a limit to self-denial. I couldn’t do that! Could I?”
The reader will know how this question was answered, and will not want to be told of the long, close, clinging, praiseworthy kiss with which the young barrister assured her that would have been on her part an act of self-denial which would to him have been absolutely ruinous. It was agreed, however, between them, that Lady Fawn should be told that they did not propose to marry till some time in the following year, and that she should be formally asked to allow Lucy to have a home at Fawn Court in the interval.
XIX
“As My Brother”
Lord Fawn had promised, as he put Lizzie into her carriage, that he would come to her soon—but he did not come soon. A fortnight passed and he did not show himself. Nothing further had been done in the matter of the diamonds, except that Mr. Camperdown had written to Frank Greystock, explaining how impossible it was that the question of their possession should be referred to arbitration. According to him they belonged to the heir, as did the estate; and no one would have the power of accepting an arbitration respecting them—an arbitration which might separate them from the estate of which an infant was the owner for his life—any more than such arbitration could be accepted as to the property of the estate itself. “Possession is nine points of the law,” said Frank to himself, as he put the letter aside—thinking at the same time that possession in the hands of Lizzie Eustace included certainly every one of those nine points. Lizzie wore her diamonds again and then again. There may be a question whether the possession of the necklace and the publicity of their history—which, however, like many other histories, was most inaccurately told—did not add something to her reputation as a lady of fashion. In the meantime, Lord Fawn did not come to see her. So she wrote to him. “My dear Frederic, had you not better come to me? Yours affectionately—L. I go to the North at the end of this month.”
But Frank Greystock did visit her—more than once. On the day after the above letter was written he came to her. It was on Sunday afternoon, when July was more than half over, and he found her alone. Miss Macnulty had gone to church, and Lizzie was lying listlessly on a sofa with a volume of poetry in her hand. She had in truth been reading the book, and in her way enjoying it. It told her the story of certain knights of old, who had gone forth in quest of a sign from heaven, which sign, if verily seen by them, might be taken to signify that they themselves were esteemed holy, and fit for heavenly joy. One would have thought that no theme could have been less palatable to such a one as Lizzie Eustace; but the melody of the lines had pleased her ear, and she was always able to arouse for herself a false enthusiasm on things which were utterly outside herself in life. She thought she too could have travelled in search of that holy sign, and have borne all things, and abandoned all things, and have persevered—and of a certainty have been rewarded. But as for giving up a string of diamonds, in common honesty—that was beyond her.
“I wonder whether men ever were like that?” she said, as she allowed her cousin to take the book from her hands.
“Let us hope not.”
“Oh, Frank!”
“They were, no doubt, as fanatic and foolish as you please. If you will read to the end—”
“I have read it all—every word of it,” said Lizzie, enthusiastically.
“Then you know that Arthur did not go on the search, because he had a job of work to do, by the doing of which the people around him might perhaps be somewhat benefited.”
“I like Launcelot better than Arthur,” said Lizzie.
“So did the Queen,” replied Frank.
“Your useful, practical man, who attends vestries, and sits at Boards, and measures out his gifts to others by the ounce, never has any heart. Has he, Frank?”
“I don’t know what heart means. I sometimes fancy that it is a talent for getting into debt, and running away with other men’s wives.”
“You say that on purpose to make me quarrel with you. You don’t run away with other men’s wives, and you have heart.”
“But I get into debt, unfortunately; and as for other men’s wives, I am not sure that I may not do even that some day. Has Lord Fawn been here?” She shook
