She was still walking about the room when there came a low tap at the door, and Lady Fawn entered. "There is nothing the matter, Lucy?" Lucy stood stock still, with her treasure still clasped, smiling, almost laughing, while the tears ran down her cheeks. "Won't you eat your breakfast, my dear?" said Lady Fawn.
"Oh, Lady Fawn—oh, Lady Fawn!" said Lucy, rushing into her friend's arms.
"What is it, Lucy? I think our little wise one has lost her wits."
"Oh, Lady Fawn, he has asked me!"
"Is it Mr. Greystock?"
"Yes;—Mr. Greystock. He has asked me. He has asked me to be his wife. I thought he loved me. I hoped he did, at least. Oh dear, I did so hope it! And he does!"
"Has he proposed to you?"
"Yes, Lady Fawn. I told you what he said to me. And then he went and wrote this. Is he not noble and good,—and so kind? You shall read it,—but you'll give it me back, Lady Fawn?"
"Certainly I'll give it you back. You don't think I'd rob you of your lover's letter?"
"Perhaps you might think it right."