suppose not."

"Lucy, you are not attending to a word I say to you, and I don't
think you have for the last hour. I don't believe you know what I am
talking about."

"Oh, yes, I do--Grace Crawley; I'll try and teach her if you like,
only I don't know anything myself."

"That's not what I mean at all, and you know I would not ask you to
take such a task as that on yourself. But I do think you might talk
it over with me."

"Might I? very well; I will. What is it? Oh, Grace Crawley--you want
to know who is to teach her the irregular Greek verbs. Oh, dear,
Fanny, my head does ache so: pray don't be angry with me." And then
Lucy, throwing herself back on the sofa, put one hand up painfully to
her forehead, and altogether gave up the battle. Mrs. Robarts was by
her side in a moment.

"Dearest Lucy, what is it makes your head ache so often now? you used
not to have those headaches."

"It's because I'm growing stupid: never mind. We will go on about
poor Grace. It would not do to have a governess, would it?"

"I can see that you are not well, Lucy," said Mrs. Robarts, with a
look of deep concern. "What is it, dearest? I can see that something
is the matter."

"Something the matter! No, there's not; nothing worth talking of.
Sometimes I think I'll go back to Devonshire and live there. I could
stay with Blanche for a time, and then get a lodging in Exeter."

"Go back to Devonshire!" and Mrs. Robarts looked as though she
thought that her sister-in-law was going mad. "Why do you want to go
away from us? This is to be your own, own home, always now."

"Is it? Then I am in a bad way. Oh dear, oh dear, what a fool I am!
What an idiot I've been! Fanny, I don't think I can stay here; and I
do so wish I'd never come. I do--I do--I do, though you look at me so
horribly," and jumping up she threw herself into her sister-in-law's
arms and began kissing her violently. "Don't pretend to be wounded,
for you know that I love you. You know that I could live with you all
my life, and think you were perfect--as you are; but--"

"Has Mark said anything?"

"Not a word,--not a ghost of a syllable. It is not Mark; oh, Fanny!"

"I am afraid I know what you mean," said Mrs. Robarts in a low
tremulous voice, and with deep sorrow painted on her face.

"Of course you do; of course you know; you have known it all along;
since that day in the pony carriage. I knew that you knew it. You do
not dare to mention his name; would not that tell me