ggested that,
as it might probably be expedient to take advice on the subject
professionally, he had rather not look at the deed. Anything which he
might say, on looking at the document now, could have no weight. "But
why should any advice be necessary," said Mr. Camperdown, "when the
matter is so clear?"

"My dear sir," said Frank, "my cousin, Lady Eustace, is strong in her
confidence that her late husband intended to give them to her as her
own, and that he would not have done this without the power of doing
so." Now, Mr. Camperdown was quite sure that Lizzie was lying in
this, and could therefore make no adequate answer. "Your experience
must probably have told you," continued Frank, "that there is
considerable difficulty in dealing with the matter of heirlooms."

"I never heard of any such difficulty," said Mr. Camperdown.

"People generally understand it all so clearly," said Lord Fawn.

"The late Sir Florian does not appear to have understood it very
clearly," said Frank.

"Let her put them into the hands of any indifferent person or firm
till the matter is decided," said Mr. Camperdown. "They will be much
safer so than in her keeping."

"I think they are quite safe," said Frank.

And this was all that took place at that meeting. As Mr. Camperdown
said to John Eustace, it was manifest enough that she meant "to hang
on to them." "I only hope Lord Fawn will not be fool enough to marry
her," said Mr. Camperdown. Lord Fawn himself was of the same way of
thinking;--but then how was he to clear his character of the charge
which would be brought against him; and how was he to stand his
ground before Frank Greystock?

CHAPTER XVII

The Diamonds Are Seen in Public

Let it not be supposed that Lady Eustace, during these summer weeks,
was living the life of a recluse. The London season was in its full
splendour, and she was by no means a recluse. During the first year
of her widowhood she had been every inch a widow,--as far as crape
would go, and a quiet life either at Bobsborough or Portray Castle.
During this year her child was born,--and she was in every way
thrown upon her good behaviour, living with bishops' wives and deans'
daughters. Two years of retreat from the world is generally thought
to be the proper thing for a widow. Lizzie had not quite accomplished
her two years before she re-opened the campaign in Mount Street with
very small remnants of weeds, and with her crape brought down to a
min