hair. She was hardly nineteen when her father died and she was taken home
by that dreadful old termagant, her aunt, Lady Linlithgow. Lizzie would
have sooner gone to any other friend or relative, had there been any other
friend or relative to take her possessed of a house in town. Her uncle,
Dean Greystock, of Bobsborough, would have had her--and a more good-
natured old soul than the dean's wife did not exist, and there were three
pleasant, good-tempered girls in the deanery, who had made various little
efforts at friendship with their cousin Lizzie--but Lizzie had higher
ideas for herself than life in the deanery at Bobsborough. She hated Lady
Linlithgow. During her father's lifetime, when she hoped to be able to
settle herself before his death, she was not in the habit of concealing
her hatred for Lady Linlithgow. Lady Linlithgow was not indeed amiable or
easily managed. But when the admiral died, Lizzie did not hesitate for a
moment in going to the old "vulturess," as she was in the habit of calling
the countess in her occasional correspondence with the girls at
Bobsborough.

The admiral died greatly in debt--so much so that it was a marvel how
tradesmen had trusted him. There was literally nothing left for anybody;
and Messrs. Harter & Benjamin of Old Bond Street condescended to call at
Lady Linlithgow's house in Brook Street, and to beg that the jewels
supplied during the last twelve months might be returned. Lizzie protested
that there were no jewels--nothing to signify, nothing worth restoring.
Lady Linlithgow had seen the diamonds, and demanded an explanation. They
had been "parted with," by the admiral's orders--so said Lizzie--for the
payment of other debts. Of this Lady Linlithgow did not believe a word,
but she could not get at any exact truth. At that moment the jewels were
in very truth pawned for money which had been necessary for Lizzie's
needs. Certain things must be paid for--one's own maid for instance--and
one must have some money in one's pocket for railway-trains and little