e that he
has said more."

"What more has he said, Lucy?"

"I yearn to tell you, if only I can trust you;" and Lucy knelt down
at the feet of Mrs. Robarts, looking up into her face and smiling
through the remaining drops of her tears. "I would fain tell you,
but I do not know you yet--whether you are quite true. I could be
true--true against all the world, if my friend told me. I will
tell you, Fanny, if you say that you can be true. But if you doubt
yourself, if you must whisper all to Mark--then let us be silent."

There was something almost awful in this to Mrs. Robarts. Hitherto,
since their marriage, hardly a thought had passed through her mind
which she had not shared with her husband. But now all this had come
upon her so suddenly, that she was unable to think whether it would
be well that she should become the depositary of such a secret--not
to be mentioned to Lucy's brother, not to be mentioned to her own
husband. But who ever yet was offered a secret and declined it? Who
at least ever declined a love secret? What sister could do so? Mrs.
Robarts, therefore, gave the promise, smoothing Lucy's hair as she
did so, and kissing her forehead and looking into her eyes, which,
like a rainbow, were the brighter for her tears. "And what has he
said to you, Lucy?"

"What? Only this, that he asked me to be his wife."

"Lord Lufton proposed to you?"

"Yes; proposed to me. It is not credible, is it? You cannot bring
yourself to believe that such a thing happened, can you?" And Lucy
rose again to her feet, as the idea of the scorn with which she
felt that others would treat her--with which she herself treated
herself--made the blood rise to her cheek. "And yet it is not a
dream--I think that it is not a dream. I think that he really did."

"Think, Lucy!"

"Well, I may say that I am sure."

"A gentleman would not make you a formal proposal, and leave you in
doubt as to what he meant."

"Oh dear, no. There was no doubt at all of that kind--none in the
least. Mr. Smith, in asking Miss Jones to do him the honour of
becoming Mrs. Smith, never spoke more plainly. I was alluding to the
possibility of having dreamt it all."

"Lucy!"

"Well, it was not a dream. Here, standing here, on this very spot--on
that flower of the carpet--he begged me a dozen times to be his wife.
I wonder whether you and Mark would let me cut it out and keep it."

"And what answer did you make to him?"

"I lied to him, and told him that