families for so many years, who could complain of that? Lady Fawn,
however, had not complained; but just said a word. A word in season, how
good is it? Lucy did not much regard the word spoken to herself; but when
she reflected that a word must also have been spoken to Mr. Greystock--
otherwise how should it have been that he never came again--that she did
not like.

In herself she regarded this passion of hers as a healthy man regards the
loss of a leg or an arm. It is a great nuisance, a loss that maims the
whole life, a misfortune to be much regretted. But because a leg is gone,
everything is not gone. A man with a wooden leg may stump about through
much action, and may enjoy the keenest pleasures of humanity. He has his
eyes left to him, and his ears, and his intellect. He will not break his
heart for the loss of that leg. And so it was with Lucy Morris. She would
still stump about and be very active. Eyes, ears, and intellect were left
to her. Looking at her position, she told herself that a happy love could
hardly have been her lot in life. Lady Fawn, she thought, was right. A
governess should make up her mind to do without a lover. She had given
away her heart, and yet she would do without a lover. When, on one dull,
dark afternoon, as she was thinking of all this, Lord Fawn suddenly put
into her hands a cruelly long printed document respecting the Sawab, she
went to work upon it immediately. As she read it, she could not refrain
from thinking how wonderfully Frank Greystock would plead the cause of the
Indian prince, if the privilege of pleading it could be given to him.

The spring had come round, with May and the London butterflies, at the
time at which our story begins, and during six months Frank Greystock had
not been at Fawn Court. Then one day Lady Eustace came down with her
ponies, and her footman, and a new dear friend of hers, Miss Macnulty.
While Miss Macnulty was being honoured by Lady Fawn, Lizzie had retreated