“Of course it should.”
“And though to me and to the girls you are as dear as any friend can be, and may say just what you please—Indeed, we all live here in such a way that we all do say just what we please—young and old together. But you ought to know that Lord Fawn is different.”
“Ought he to say that Mr. Greystock is not a gentleman to me?”
“We are, of course, very sorry that there should be any quarrel. It is all the fault of that—nasty, false young woman.”
“So it is, Lady Fawn. Lady Fawn, I have been thinking about it all the day, and I am quite sure that I had better not stay here while you and the girls think badly of Mr. Greystock. It is not only about Lord Fawn, but because of the whole thing. I am always wanting to say something good about Mr. Greystock, and you are always thinking something bad about him. You have been to me—oh, the very best friend that a girl ever had. Why you should have treated me so generously I never could know.”
“Because we have loved you.”
“But when a girl has got a man whom she loves, and has promised to marry, he must be her best friend of all. Is it not so, Lady Fawn?” The old woman stooped down and kissed the girl who had got the man. “It is not ingratitude to you that makes me think most of him; is it?”
“Certainly not, dear.”
“Then I had better go away.”
“But where will you go, Lucy?”
“I will consult Mr. Greystock.”
“But what can he do, Lucy? It will only be a trouble to him. He can’t find a home for you.”
“Perhaps they would have me at the deanery,” said Lucy slowly. She had evidently been thinking much of it all. “And, Lady Fawn, I will not go downstairs while Lord Fawn is here; and when he comes—if he does come again while I am here—he shall not be troubled by seeing me. He may be sure of that. And you may tell him that I don’t defend myself, only I shall always think that he ought not to have said that Mr. Greystock wasn’t a gentleman before me.” When Lady Fawn left Lucy the matter was so far settled that Lucy had neither been asked to come down to dinner, nor had she been forbidden to seek another home.
XXX
Mr. Greystock’s Troubles
Frank Greystock stayed the Sunday in London and went down to Bobsborough on the Monday. His father and mother and sister all knew of his engagement to Lucy, and they had heard also that Lady Eustace was to become Lady Fawn. Of the necklace they had hitherto heard very little, and of the quarrel between the two lovers they had heard nothing. There had been many misgivings at the deanery, and some regrets, about these marriages. Mrs. Greystock, Frank’s mother, was, as we are so wont to say of many women, the best woman in the world. She was unselfish, affectionate, charitable, and thoroughly feminine. But she did think that her son Frank, with all his advantages—good looks, cleverness, general popularity, and seat in Parliament—might just as well marry an heiress as a little girl without twopence in the world. As for herself, who had been born a Jackson, she could do with very little; but the Greystocks were all people who wanted money. For them there was never more than ninepence in a shilling, if so much. They were a race who could not pay their way with moderate incomes. Even the dear dean, who really had a conscience about money, and who hardly ever left Bobsborough, could not be kept quite clear of debt, let her do what she would. As for the admiral, the dean’s elder brother, he had been notorious for insolvency; and Frank was a Greystock all over. He was the very man to whom money with a wife was almost a necessity of existence.
And his pretty cousin, the widow, who was devoted to him, and would have married him at a word, had ever so many thousands a year! Of course, Lizzie Eustace was not just all that she should be;—but then who is? In one respect, at any rate, her conduct had always been proper. There was no rumour against her as to lovers or flirtations. She was very young, and Frank might have moulded her as he pleased. Of course there were regrets. Poor dear little Lucy Morris was as good as gold. Mrs. Greystock was quite willing to admit that. She was not good-looking;—so at least Mrs. Greystock said. She never would allow that Lucy was good-looking. And she didn’t see much in Lucy, who, according to her idea, was a little chit of a thing. Her position was simply that of a governess. Mrs. Greystock declared to her daughter that no one in the whole world had a higher respect for governesses than had she. But a governess is a governess;—and for a man in Frank’s position such a marriage would be simply suicide.
“You shouldn’t say that, mamma, now; for it’s fixed,” said Ellinor Greystock.
“But I do say it, my dear. Things sometimes are fixed which must be unfixed. You know your brother.”
“Frank is earning a large income, mamma.”
“Did you ever know a Greystock who didn’t want more than his income?”
“I hope I don’t, mamma, and mine is very small.”
“You’re a Jackson. Frank is
