gives out one's heart and gets in return
nothing but dust and ashes,--nothing but ashes and dust. Oh, I have
been so disappointed in Lady Fawn!"

"You know she is my dearest friend," said Lucy.

"Psha! I know that you have worked for her like a slave, and that she
gives you but a bare pittance."

"She has been more like a mother to me than anything else," said Lucy
angrily.

"Because you have been tame. It does not suit me to be tame. It is
not my plan to be tame. Have you heard the cause of the disagreement
between Lord Fawn and me?"

"Well,--no."

"Tell the truth, Lucy."

"How dare you tell me to tell the truth? Of course I tell the truth.
I believe it is something about some property which he wants you to
give back to somebody; but I don't know any more."

"Yes, my dear husband, Sir Florian, who understood me,--whom I
idolized,--who seemed to have been made for me,--gave me a present.
Lord Fawn is pleased to say that he does not approve of my keeping
any gift from my late lord. Considering that he intends to live
upon the wealth which Sir Florian was generous enough to bestow
upon me, this does seem to be strange! Of course, I resented such
interference. Would not you have resented it?"

"I don't know," said Lucy, who thought that she could bring herself
to comply with any request made to her by Frank Greystock.

"Any woman who had a spark of spirit would resent it, and I have
resented it. I have told Lord Fawn that I will, on no account, part
with the rich presents which my adored Florian showered upon me in
his generosity. It is not for their richness that I keep them, but
because they are, for his sake, so inexpressibly dear to me. If Lord
Fawn chooses to be jealous of a necklace, he must be jealous." Lucy,
who had, in truth, heard but a small fragment of the story,--just so
much of it as Lydia had learned from the discreet Amelia, who herself
had but a very hazy idea of the facts,--did not quite know how
much of the tale, as it was now told to her, might be true and how
much false. After a certain fashion she and Lizzie Eustace called
themselves friends. But she did not believe her friend to be honest,
and was aware that in some matters her friend would condescend--to
fib. Lizzie's poetry, and romance, and high feelings, had never had
the ring of true soundness in Lucy's ears. But her imagination was
not strong enough to soar to the altitude of the lies which Lizzie
was now telling. She did believe