"Lucy, my dear, why are you sitting here?" said Lady
Fawn.
"Because I am unhappy."
"What makes you unhappy, Lucy?"
"I don't know. I would rather you didn't ask me. I suppose I behaved badly
down-stairs."
"My son would forgive you in a moment if you asked him."
"No; certainly not. I can beg your pardon, Lady Fawn, but not his. Of
course I had no right to talk about speeches, and politics, and this
prince in your drawing-room."
"Lucy, you astonish me."
"But it is so. Dear Lady Fawn, don't look like that. I know how good you
are to me. I know you let me do things which other governesses mayn't do;
and say things; but still I am a governess, and I know I misbehaved--to
you." Then Lucy burst into tears.
Lady Fawn, in whose bosom there was no stony corner or morsel of hard
iron, was softened at once. "My dear, you are more like another daughter
to me than anything else."
"Dear Lady Fawn!"
"But it makes me unhappy when I see your mind engaged about Mr. Greystock.
There is the truth, Lucy. You should not think of Mr. Greystock. Mr.
Greystock is a man who has his way to make in the world, and could not
marry you, even if, under other circumstances, he would wish to do so.
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