her brow--how, then,
about that clerical brother near the throne? Would it not come to
this, that there would no longer be a queen at Framley? And yet she
knew that she must yield. She did not say so to herself. She did not
as yet acknowledge that she must put out her hand to Lucy, calling
her by name as her daughter. She did not absolutely say as much to
her own heart--not as yet. But she did begin to bethink herself of
Lucy's high qualities, and to declare to herself that the girl, if
not fit to be a queen, was at any rate fit to be a woman. That there
was a spirit within that body, insignificant though the body might
be, Lady Lufton was prepared to admit. That she had acquired the
power--the chief of all powers in this world--of sacrificing herself
for the sake of others; that, too, was evident enough. That she was a
good girl, in the usual acceptation of the word good, Lady Lufton had
never doubted. She was ready-witted, too, prompt in action, gifted
with a certain fire. It was that gift of fire which had won for her,
so unfortunately, Lord Lufton's love. It was quite possible for her
also to love Lucy Robarts; Lady Lufton admitted that to herself; but
then who could bow the knee before her, and serve her as a queen? Was
it not a pity that she should be so insignificant?

But, nevertheless, we may say that as Lady Lufton sate that morning
in her own room for two hours without employment, the star of Lucy
Robarts was gradually rising in the firmament. After all, love was
the food chiefly necessary for the nourishment of Lady Lufton--the
only food absolutely necessary. She was not aware of this herself,
nor probably would those who knew her best have so spoken of her.
They would have declared that family pride was her daily pabulum, and
she herself would have said so too, calling it, however, by some less
offensive name. Her son's honour, and the honour of her house!--of
those she would have spoken as the things dearest to her in this
world. And this was partly true, for had her son been dishonoured,
she would have sunk with sorrow to the grave. But the one thing
necessary to her daily life was the power of loving those who were
near to her. Lord Lufton, when he left the dining-room, intended
at once to go up to the parsonage, but he first strolled round the
garden in order that he might make up his mind what he would say
there. He was angry with his mother, having not had the wit to
see that she was about to give wa