people always know every thing, and the peculiar courtesy of his demeanor as he let down the carriage steps was very observable.
Lucy felt almost beside herself as she returned up stairs, not knowing what to do, or how to look, and with what words to speak. It behooved her to go at once to Mrs. Crawley's room, and yet she longed to be alone. She knew that she was quite unable either to conceal her thoughts or express them; nor did she wish, at the present moment, to talk to any one about her happiness, seeing that she could not, at the present moment, talk to Fanny Robarts. She went, however, without delay into Mrs. Crawley's room, and with that little eager way of speaking quickly which is so common with people who know that they are confused, said that she feared she had been a very long time away.
"And was it Lady Lufton?"
"Yes, it was Lady Lufton."
"Why, Lucy, I did not know that you and her ladyship were such friends."
"She had something particular she wanted to say," said Lucy, avoiding the question, and avoiding also Mrs. Crawley's eyes; and then she sat down in her usual chair.
"It was nothing unpleasant, I hope?"
"No, nothing at all unpleasant—nothing of that kind. Oh, Mrs. Crawley, I'll tell you some other time, but pray do not ask me now." And then she got up and escaped, for it was absolutely necessary that she should be alone.
When she reached her own room—that in which the children usually slept—she made a great effort to compose herself, but not altogether successfully. She got out her paper and blotting-book, intending, as she said to herself, to write to Fanny, knowing, however, that the letter, when written, would be destroyed; but she was not able even to form a word. Her hand was unsteady, and her eyes were dim, and her thoughts were incapable of being fixed. She could only sit, and think, and wonder, and hope; occasionally wiping the tears from her eyes, and asking herself why her present frame of mind was so painful to her. During the last two or three months she had felt no fear of Lord Lufton, had always carried herself before him on equal terms, and had been signally capable of doing so when he made his declaration to her at the Parsonage; but
