hought not at all. It was her fault that she had nothing
of feminine vanity. But no man or woman was ever more anxious
to be effective, to persuade, to obtain belief, sympathy, and
co-operation;--not for any result personal to herself, but because,
by obtaining these things, she could be effective in the object then
before her, be it what it might.

One other thing may be told of her. She had given her heart,--for
good and all, as she owned to herself,--to Frank Greystock. She
had owned to herself that it was so, and had owned to herself that
nothing could come of it. Frank was becoming a man of mark,--but was
becoming a man of mark without much money. Of all men he was the last
who could afford to marry a governess. And then, moreover, he had
never said a word to make her think that he loved her. He had called
on her once or twice at Fawn Court,--as why should he not? Seeing
that there had been friendship between the families for so many
years, who could complain of that? Lady Fawn, however, had--not
complained, but just said a word. A word in season, how good is
it? Lucy did not much regard the word spoken to herself; but
when she reflected that a word must also have been spoken to Mr.
Greystock,--otherwise how should it have been that he never came
again?--that she did not like.

In herself she regarded this passion of hers as a healthy man regards
the loss of a leg or an arm. It is a great nuisance, a loss that
maims the whole life,--a misfortune to be much regretted. But because
a leg is gone, everything is not gone. A man with a wooden leg may
stump about through much action, and may enjoy the keenest pleasures
of humanity. He has his eyes left to him, and his ears, and his
intellect. He will not break his heart for the loss of that leg. And
so it was with Lucy Morris. She would still stump about and be very
active. Eyes, ears, and intellect were left to her. Looking at her
position, she told herself that a happy love could hardly have been
her lot in life. Lady Fawn, she thought, was right. A governess
should make up her mind to do without a lover. She had given away her
heart, and yet she would do without a lover. When, on one dull, dark
afternoon, as she was thinking of all this, Lord Fawn suddenly put
into her hands a cruelly long printed document respecting the Sawab,
she went to work upon it immediately. As she read it, she could not
refrain from thinking how wonderfully Frank Greystock would plead the
ca