jury to him. To him it is simply a delight, an
excitement in life, a thing to be known to himself only and not
talked of to others, a source of pride and inward exultation. It is
a joy to think of when he wakes, and a consolation in his little
troubles. It dispels the weariness of life, and makes a green spot of
holiday within his daily work. It is, indeed, death to her;--but he
does not know it. Frank Greystock did think that he could not marry
Lucy Morris without making an imprudent plunge into deep water, and
yet he felt that Lady Fawn was an ill-natured old woman for hinting
to him that he had better not, for the present, continue his visits
to Fawn Court. "Of course you understand me, Mr. Greystock," she had
said, meaning to be civil. "When Miss Morris has left us,--should she
ever leave us,--I should be most happy to see you." "What on earth
would take me to Fawn Court, if Lucy were not there!" he said to
himself,--not choosing to appreciate Lady Fawn's civility.

Frank Greystock was at this time nearly thirty years old. He was a
good-looking, but not strikingly handsome man; thin, of moderate
height, with sharp grey eyes, a face clean shorn with the exception
of a small whisker, with wiry, strong dark hair, which was already
beginning to show a tinge of grey;--the very opposite in appearance
to his late friend Sir Florian Eustace. He was quick, ready-witted,
self-reliant, and not over scrupulous in the outward things of the
world. He was desirous of doing his duty to others, but he was
specially desirous that others should do their duty to him. He
intended to get on in the world, and believed that happiness was to
be achieved by success. He was certainly made for the profession
which he had adopted. His father, looking to certain morsels of
Church patronage which occasionally came in his way, and to the fact
that he and the bishop were on most friendly terms, had wished his
son to take orders. But Frank had known himself and his own qualities
too well to follow his father's advice. He had chosen to be a
barrister, and now, at thirty, he was in Parliament.

He had been asked to stand for Bobsborough in the Conservative
interest, and as a Conservative he had been returned. Those who
invited him knew probably but little of his own political beliefs or
feelings,--did not, probably, know whether he had any. His father was
a fine old Tory of the ancient school, who thought that things were
going from bad to worse, bu