he parsonage drawing-room, and Fanny had been there.
Fanny now was so well accustomed to his lordship, that she thought
but little of this, but to Lucy it had been very pleasant. He was not
forward or familiar, but kind, and gentle, and pleasant; and Lucy did
feel that she liked him. Now, on this evening, he had hitherto hardly
spoken to her; but then she knew that there were other people in
the company to whom he was bound to speak. She was not exactly
humble-minded in the usual sense of the word; but she did recognise
the fact that her position was less important than that of other
people there, and that therefore it was probable that to a certain
extent she would be overlooked. But not the less would she have liked
to occupy the seat to which Miss Grantly had found her way. She did
not want to flirt with Lord Lufton; she was not such a fool as that;
but she would have liked to have heard the sound of his voice close
to her ear, instead of that of Captain Culpepper's knife and fork.
This was the first occasion on which she had endeavoured to dress
herself with care since her father had died; and now, sombre though
she was in her deep mourning, she did look very well.

"There is an expression about her forehead that is full of poetry,"
Fanny had said to her husband.

"Don't you turn her head, Fanny, and make her believe that she is a
beauty," Mark had answered.

"I doubt it is not so easy to turn her head, Mark. There is more in
Lucy than you imagine, and so you will find out before long." It was
thus that Mrs. Robarts prophesied about her sister-in-law. Had she
been asked she might perhaps have said that Lucy's presence would be
dangerous to the Grantly interest at Framley Court.

Lord Lufton's voice was audible enough as he went on talking to Miss
Grantly--his voice, but not his words. He talked in such a way that
there was no appearance of whispering, and yet the person to whom he
spoke, and she only, could hear what he said. Mrs. Grantly the while
conversed constantly with Lucy's brother, who sat at Lucy's left
hand. She never lacked for subjects on which to speak to a country
clergyman of the right sort, and thus Griselda was left quite
uninterrupted. But Lucy could not but observe that Griselda herself
seemed to have very little to say--or at any rate to say very little.
Every now and then she did open her mouth, and some word or brace
of words would fall from it. But for the most part she seemed to be
conte