“I do not want to give too little. Oh,” said Lucy, “if you knew how glad I would be to think it was all gone! I thought at first it would be delightful to help everybody—to give them whatever they wanted.”
“But if you give all your money away you will not be a very great heiress any more.”
“That was what papa meant,” said Lucy. “He thought because my uncle made it I should have the pleasure of giving it back.”
Miss Southwood looked at her with a very grave face. “My dear,” she said, “if I were you I would not speak of it like this, I would not let it be known. As it is, you might marry anybody; you might have a duke, I verily believe, if you liked; but if it is known that the money is not yours after all, that you are not the great heiress everybody thinks, it will spoil your prospects, Lucy. Listen to me, for I am speaking as a friend; now that you are not going to marry Frank, I can’t have any motive, can I? I would not say a word about it till after I was married, Lucy, if I were in your place. It will spoil all your prospects, you will see.”
She raised her voice unconsciously as she gave this advice, till even little Jock was roused. He got upon his elbows and twisted himself round to look at her. And the stare of his great eyes had a fascinating effect upon Miss Southwood. She turned round, involuntarily drawn by them, and said with a half shriek, “Good Lord! I forgot that child.”
As for Lucy, she made no reply; she only half understood what was meant by the spoiling of her prospects, and this serious remonstrance had much less effect upon her than words a great deal less weighty.
“Will you tell me what I am to do?” she said simply; “and how much do you think it should be, Miss Southwood? Gentlemen spend a great deal more than women. I will write at once to my guardian.”
“To your guardian!” Miss Southwood cried; and this time with a real though suppressed shriek, “you will write to your guardian—about Frank?”
Here Lucy laughed softly in spite of herself. “You do not think I could keep thousands of pounds in my pockets? and besides, it has all to be done—like business.”
“Like business!” Miss Southwood was unreasonably, incomprehensibly wounded; “write to your guardian,” she said, faintly, “about Frank—manage it like business! Oh, Lucy, I fear it was I that was mistaken, and Maria that understood you, after all!”