The Eustace Diamonds

not now, and hadn’t been before her marriage, any better than she should be. The name of Admiral Greystock, as having been the father of his mistress, had indeed reached his ears; but Andy Gowran was a suspicious man, and felt no confidence even in an admiral⁠—in regard to whom he heard nothing of his having, or having had, a wife. “It’s my fer-rm opeenion she’s jist naebody⁠—and waur,” he had said more than once to his own wife, nodding his head with great emphasis at the last word. He was very anxious, therefore, to see “her leddyship’s” cousin. Mr. Gowran thought that he knew a gentleman when he saw one. He thought, also, that he knew a lady, and that he didn’t see one when he was engaged with his mistress. Cousin, indeed! “For the matter o’ that, ony man that comes the way may be ca’ed a coosin.” So Mr. Gowran was on the grand sweep before the garden gate, and took the pony from Frank’s hand. “Is Lady Eustace at home?” Frank asked. Mr. Gowran perceived that Frank was a gentleman, and was disappointed. And Frank didn’t come as a man comes who calls himself by a false name, and pretends to be an honest cousin when in fact he is something⁠—oh, ever so wicked! Mr. Gowran, who was a stern moralist, was certainly disappointed at Frank’s appearance.

Lizzie was in a little sitting-room, reached by a long passage with steps in the middle, at some corner of the castle which seemed a long way from the great door. It was a cheerful little room, with chintz curtains, and a few shelves laden with brightly-bound books, which had been prepared for Lizzie immediately on her marriage. It looked out upon the sea, and she had almost taught herself to think that here she had sat with her adored Florian, gazing in mutual ecstasy upon the “wide expanse of glittering waves.” She was lying back in a low armchair as her cousin entered, and she did not rise to receive him. Of course she was alone, Miss Macnulty having received a suggestion that it would be well that she should do a little gardening in the moat. “Well, Frank?” she said, with her sweetest smile, as she gave him her hand. She felt and understood the extreme intimacy which would be implied by her not rising to receive him. As she could not rush into his arms there was no device by which she could more clearly show to him how close she regarded his friendship.

“So I am at Portray Castle at last,” he said, still holding her hand.

“Yes⁠—at the dullest, dreariest, deadliest spot in all Christendom, I think⁠—if Ayrshire be Christendom. But never mind about that now. Perhaps, as you are at the other side of the mountain at the Cottage, we shall find it less dull here at the castle.”

“I thought you were to be so happy here.”

“Sit down and we’ll talk it all over by degrees. What will you have⁠—breakfast or lunch?”

“Neither, thank you.”

“Of course you’ll stay to dinner?”

“No, indeed. I’ve a man there at the Cottage with me who would cut his throat in his solitude.”

“Let him cut his throat;⁠—but never mind now. As for being happy, women are never happy without men. I needn’t tell any lies to you, you know. What makes me sure that this fuss about making men and women all the same must be wrong, is just the fact that men can get along without women, and women can’t without men. My life has been a burden to me. But never mind. Tell me about my lord;⁠—my lord and master.”

“Lord Fawn?”

“Who else? What other lord and master? My bosom’s own; my heart’s best hope; my spot of terra firma; my cool running brook of fresh water; my rock; my love; my lord; my all! Is he always thinking of his absent Lizzie? Does he still toil at Downing Street? Oh, dear; do you remember, Frank, when he told us that ‘one of us must remain in town?’ ”

“I have seen him.”

“So you wrote me word.”

“And I have seen a very obstinate, pigheaded, but nevertheless honest and truth-speaking gentleman.”

“Frank, I don’t care twopence for his honesty and truth. If he ill-treats me⁠—” Then she paused; looking into his face she had seen at once by the manner in which he had taken her badinage, without a smile, that it was necessary that she should be serious as to her matrimonial prospects. “I suppose I had better let you tell your story,” she said, “and I will sit still and listen.”

“He means to ill-treat you.”

“And you will let him?”

“You had better listen, as you promised, Lizzie. He declares that the marriage must be off at once unless you will send those diamonds to Mr. Camperdown or to the jewellers.”

“And by what law or rule does he justify himself in a decision so monstrous? Is he prepared to prove that the property is not my own?”

“If you ask me my opinion as a lawyer, I doubt whether any such proof can be shown. But as a man and a friend I do advise you to give them up.”

“Never!”

“You must, of course, judge for yourself;⁠—but that is my advice. You had better, however, hear my whole story.”

“Certainly,” said Lizzie. Her whole manner was now changed. She had extricated herself from the crouching position in which her feet, her curl, her arms, her whole body had been so arranged as to combine the charm of her beauty with the charm of proffered intimacy. Her dress was such as a woman would wear to receive her brother, and yet it had been studied. She had no gems about her but what she might well wear in her ordinary life, and yet the very rings on her fingers had not been put on without reference to her cousin Frank. Her position had been one of lounging ease, such as a woman might adopt when all alone, giving herself