betray herself, or ask for the beloved friend of the future. "Dear, dear
Lady Fawn," she said, throwing herself into the arms and nestling herself
against the bosom of the old lady, "this makes my happiness perfect." Then
she retreated a little, still holding the hand she had grasped between her
own, and looking up into the face of her future mother-in-law. "When he
asked me to be his wife, the first thing I thought of was whether you
would come to me at once." Her voice as she thus spoke was perfect. Her
manner was almost perfect. Perhaps there was a little too much of gesture,
too much gliding motion, too violent an appeal with the eyes, too close a
pressure of the hand. No suspicion, however, of all this would have
touched Lady Fawn had she come to Mount street without calling in Warwick
Square on the way. But those horrible words of her daughter were ringing
in her ears, and she did not know how to conduct herself.

"Of course I came as soon as he told me," she said.

"And you will be a mother to me?" demanded Lizzie.

Poor Lady Fawn! There was enough of maternity about her to have enabled
her to undertake the duty for a dozen sons' wives--if the wives were women
with whom she could feel sympathy. And she could feel sympathy very
easily, and she was a woman not at all prone to inquire too curiously as
to the merits of a son's wife. But what was she to do after the caution
she had received from Mrs. Hittaway? How was she to promise maternal
tenderness to a vixen and a liar? By nature she was not a deceitful woman.
"My dear," she said, "I hope you will make him a good wife."

It was not very encouraging, but Lizzie made the best of it. It was her
desire to cheat Lady Fawn into a good opinion, and she was not
disappointed when no good opinion was expressed at once. It is seldom that