German, and something
of music to the two youngest Miss Fawns.

During that visit at the deanery, when the heir of the Eustaces was
being born, Lucy was undergoing a sort of probation for the Fawn
establishment. The proposed engagement with Lady Fawn was thought to
be a great thing for her. Lady Fawn was known as a miracle of Virtue,
Benevolence, and Persistency. Every good quality that she possessed
was so marked as to be worthy of being expressed with a capital.
But her virtues were of that extraordinarily high character that
there was no weakness in them,--no getting over them, no perverting
them with follies or even exaggerations. When she heard of the
excellencies of Miss Morris from the dean's wife, and then, after
minutest investigation, learned the exact qualities of the young
lady, she expressed herself willing to take Lucy into her house on
special conditions. She must be able to teach music up to a certain
point. "Then it's all over," said Lucy to the dean with her pretty
smile,--that smile which caused all the old and middle-aged men to
fall in love with her. "It's not over at all," said the dean. "You've
got four months. Our organist is about as good a teacher as there is
in England. You are clever and quick, and he shall teach you." So
Lucy went to Bobsborough, and was afterwards accepted by Lady Fawn.

While she was at the deanery there sprung up a renewed friendship
between her and Lizzie. It was, indeed, chiefly a one-sided
friendship; for Lucy, who was quick and unconsciously capable of
reading that book to which we alluded in a previous chapter, was
somewhat afraid of the rich widow. And when Lizzie talked to her
of their old childish days, and quoted poetry, and spoke of things
romantic,--as she was much given to do,--Lucy felt that the metal
did not ring true. And then Lizzie had an ugly habit of abusing all
her other friends behind their backs. Now Lucy did not like to hear
the Greystocks abused, and would say so. "That's all very well, you
little minx," Lizzie would say playfully, "but you know that they are
all asses!" Lucy by no means thought that the Greystocks were asses,
and was very strongly of opinion that one of them was as far removed
from being an ass as any human being she had ever known. This one was
Frank Greystock, the barrister. Of Frank Greystock some special--but,
let it be hoped, very short--description must be given by-and-by. For
the present it will be sufficient to declare