a certainty have been rewarded. But as for giving
up a string of diamonds, in common honesty,--that was beyond her.

"I wonder whether men ever were like that?" she said, as she allowed
her cousin to take the book from her hands.

"Let us hope not."

"Oh, Frank!"

"They were, no doubt, as fanatic and foolish as you please. If you
will read to the end--"

"I have read it all,--every word of it," said Lizzie,
enthusiastically.

"Then you know that Arthur did not go on the search, because he had a
job of work to do, by the doing of which the people around him might
perhaps be somewhat benefited."

"I like Launcelot better than Arthur," said Lizzie.

"So did the Queen," replied Frank.

"Your useful, practical man, who attends vestries, and sits at
Boards, and measures out his gifts to others by the ounce, never has
any heart. Has he, Frank?"

"I don't know what heart means. I sometimes fancy that it is a talent
for getting into debt, and running away with other men's wives."

"You say that on purpose to make me quarrel with you. You don't run
away with other men's wives, and you have heart."

"But I get into debt, unfortunately; and as for other men's wives, I
am not sure that I may not do even that some day. Has Lord Fawn been
here?" She shook her head. "Or written?" Again she shook her head.
As she did so the long curl waved and was very near to him, for he
was sitting close to the sofa, and she had raised herself so that
she might look into his face and speak to him almost in a whisper.
"Something should be settled, Lizzie, before you leave town."

"I wrote to him, yesterday,--one line, and desired him to come. I
expected him here to-day, but you have come instead. Shall I say that
I am disappointed?"

"No doubt you are so."

"Oh, Frank, how vain you men are! You want me to swear to you that
I would sooner have you with me than him. You are not content
with--thinking it, unless I tell you that it is so. You know that
it is so. Though he is to be my husband,--I suppose he will be my
husband,--his spirit is not congenial to mine, as is yours."

"Had you not loved him you would not have accepted him."

"What was I to do, Frank? What am I to do? Think how desolate I
am, how unfriended, how much in want of some one whom I can call
a protector! I cannot have you always with me. You care more for
the little finger of that prim piece of propriety down at the old
dowager's than you do for me and all my sorr