not communicated to her—that would have been to her the one thing not to be borne.
And then they discussed their plans—what mode of escape they might have out of this terrible money difficulty. Like a true woman, Mrs. Robarts proposed at once to abandon all superfluities. They would sell all their horses; they would not sell their cows, but would sell the butter that came from them; they would sell the pony carriage, and get rid of the groom. That the footman must go was so much a matter of course that it was hardly mentioned. But then, as to that house at Barchester, the dignified prebendal mansion in the Close, might they not be allowed to leave it unoccupied for one year longer—perhaps to let it? The world, of course, must know of their misfortune; but if that misfortune was faced bravely, the world would be less bitter in its condemnation. And then, above all things, every thing must be told to Lady Lufton.
"You may, at any rate, believe this, Fanny," said he, "that for no consideration which can be offered to me will I ever put my name to another bill."
The kiss with which she thanked him for this was as warm and generous as though he had brought to her that day news of the brightest; and when he sat, as he did that evening, discussing it all not only with his wife, but with Lucy, he wondered how it was that his troubles were now so light.
Whether or no a man should have his own private pleasures, I will not now say, but it never can be worth his while to keep his sorrows private.
Lord Lufton, as he returned to town, found some difficulty in resolving what step he would next take. Sometimes, for a minute or two, he was half inclined to think—or rather to say to himself that Lucy was perhaps not worth the trouble which she threw in his way. He loved her very dearly, and would willingly make her his wife, he thought or said at such moments, but— Such moments, however, were only moments. A man in love seldom loves less because his love becomes difficult. And thus,
