"Dear Lucy," Lizzie had said, "you can understand me.
These people--oh, they are so good, but they can't understand me." Lucy
had expressed a hope that Lord Fawn understood her. "Oh, Lord Fawn--well,
yes; perhaps--I don't know. It so often happens that one's husband is the
last person to understand one."
"If I thought so, I wouldn't marry him," said Lucy.
"Frank Greystock will understand you," said Lizzie. It was indeed true
that Lucy did understand something of her wealthy friend's character, and
was almost ashamed of the friendship. With Lizzie Greystock she had never
sympathised, and Lizzie Eustace had always been distasteful to her. She
already felt that the less she should see of Lizzie Fawn the better she
should like it.
Before an hour was over Frank Greystock was walking round the shrubberies
with Lucy--and was walking with Lucy alone. It was undoubtedly the fact
that Lady Eustace had contrived that it should be so. The unfitness of the
thing recommended it to her. Frank could hardly marry a wife without a
shilling. Lucy would certainly not think at all of shillings. Frank, as
Lizzie knew, had been almost at her feet within the last fortnight, and
might, in some possible emergency, be there again.
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