it now seemed to him that this girl's conduct was a
continuation of it. The world was already beginning to treat him with
that want of respect which he so greatly dreaded. He knew that he was
too weak to stand up against a widely-spread expression of opinion
that he had behaved badly. There are men who can walk about the
streets with composed countenances, take their seats in Parliament if
they happen to have seats, work in their offices, or their chambers,
or their counting-houses with diligence, and go about the world
serenely, even though everybody be saying evil of them behind their
backs. Such men can live down temporary calumny, and almost take a
delight in the isolation which it will produce. Lord Fawn knew well
that he was not such a man. He would have described his own weakness
as caused, perhaps, by a too thin-skinned sensitiveness. Those who
knew him were inclined to say that he lacked strength of character,
and, perhaps, courage.

He had certainly engaged himself to marry this widow, and he was most
desirous to do what was right. He had said that he would not marry
her unless she would give up the necklace, and he was most desirous
to be true to his word. He had been twice insulted, and he was
anxious to support these injuries with dignity. Poor Lucy's little
offence against him rankled in his mind with the other great
offences. That this humble friend of his mother's should have been so
insolent was a terrible thing to him. He was not sure even whether
his own sisters did not treat him with scantier reverence than of
yore. And yet he was so anxious to do right, and do his duty in
that state of life to which it had pleased God to call him! As to
much he was in doubt; but of two things he was quite sure,--that
Frank Greystock was a scoundrel, and that Lucy Morris was the most
impertinent young woman in England.

"What would you wish to have done, Frederic?" his mother said to him
on his return.

"In what respect, mother?"

"About Lucy Morris? I have not seen her yet. I have thought it better
that she should be left to herself for a while before I did so. I
suppose she must come down to dinner. She always does."

"I do not wish to interfere with the young lady's meals."

"No;--but about meeting her? If there is to be no talking it will
be so very unpleasant. It will be unpleasant to us all, but I am
thinking chiefly of you."

"I do not wish anybody to be disturbed for my comfort." A young woman
comi