that you know
it? And I, I am hypocrite enough for Mark; but my hypocrisy won't
pass muster before you. And, now, had I not better go to Devonshire?"

"Dearest, dearest Lucy."

"Was I not right about that labelling? O heavens! what idiots we
girls are! That a dozen soft words should have bowled me over like a
ninepin, and left me without an inch of ground to call my own. And
I was so proud of my own strength; so sure that I should never be
missish, and spoony, and sentimental! I was so determined to like him
as Mark does, or you--"

"I shall not like him at all if he has spoken words to you that he
should not have spoken."

"But he has not." And then she stopped a moment to consider. "No, he
has not. He never said a word to me that would make you angry with
him if you knew of it. Except, perhaps, that he called me Lucy; and
that was my fault, not his."

"Because you talked of soft words."

"Fanny, you have no idea what an absolute fool I am, what an
unutterable ass. The soft words of which I tell you were of the kind
which he speaks to you when he asks you how the cow gets on which he
sent you from Ireland, or to Mark about Ponto's shoulder. He told me
that he knew papa, and that he was at school with Mark, and that as
he was such good friends with you here at the parsonage, he must be
good friends with me too. No; it has not been his fault. The soft
words which did the mischief were such as those. But how well his
mother understood the world! In order to have been safe, I should not
have dared to look at him."

"But, dearest Lucy--"

"I know what you are going to say, and I admit it all. He is no hero.
There is nothing on earth wonderful about him. I never heard him say
a single word of wisdom, or utter a thought that was akin to poetry.
He devotes all his energies to riding after a fox or killing poor
birds, and I never heard of his doing a single great action in my
life. And yet--" Fanny was so astounded by the way her sister-in-law
went on, that she hardly knew how to speak. "He is an excellent son,
I believe," at last she said.

"Except when he goes to Gatherum Castle. I'll tell you what he has:
he has fine straight legs, and a smooth forehead, and a good-humoured
eye, and white teeth. Was it possible to see such a catalogue of
perfections, and not fall down, stricken to the very bone? But it was
not that that did it all, Fanny. I could have stood against that. I
think I could at least. It was his tit