imum;--but she was young and rich, and the world is aware that a
woman of twenty-two can hardly afford to sacrifice two whole years.
In the matter of her widowhood Lizzie did not encounter very much
reproach. She was not shunned, or so ill spoken of as to have a
widely-spread bad name among the streets and squares in which her
carriage-wheels rolled. People called her a flirt, held up their
hands in surprise at Sir Florian's foolish generosity,--for the
accounts of Lizzie's wealth were greatly exaggerated,--and said that
of course she would marry again.

The general belief which often seizes upon the world in regard to
some special falsehood is very surprising. Everybody on a sudden
adopts an idea that some particular man is over head and ears
in debt, so that he can hardly leave his house for fear of the
bailiffs;--or that some ill-fated woman is cruelly ill-used by her
husband;--or that some eldest son has ruined his father; whereas the
man doesn't owe a shilling, the woman never hears a harsh word from
her lord, and the eldest son in question has never succeeded in
obtaining a shilling beyond his allowance. One of the lies about
London this season was founded on the extent of Lady Eustace's
jointure. Indeed, the lie went on to state that the jointure was
more than a jointure. It was believed that the property in Ayrshire
was her own, to do what she pleased with it. That the property in
Ayrshire was taken at double its value was a matter of course. It had
been declared, at the time of his marriage, that Sir Florian had been
especially generous to his penniless wife, and the generosity was
magnified in the ordinary way. No doubt Lizzie's own diligence had
done much to propagate the story as to her positive ownership of
Portray. Mr. Camperdown had been very busy denying this. John Eustace
had denied it whenever occasion offered. The bishop in his quiet way
had denied it. Lady Linlithgow had denied it. But the lie had been
set on foot and had thriven, and there was hardly a man about town
who didn't know that Lady Eustace had eight or nine thousand a year,
altogether at her own disposal, down in Scotland. Of course a woman
so endowed, so rich, so beautiful, so clever, so young, would marry
again, and would marry well. No doubt, added to this there was a
feeling that "Lizzie," as she was not uncommonly called by people who
had hardly ever seen her, had something amiss with it all. "I don't
know where it is she's lame," s