“Wait a little,” Lady Randolph said, “you will find it very easy after awhile; and, when you marry, your husband will give you a great deal of assistance. In England you can never be at a loss in spending the largest income; and the more you have, the more satisfactorily you can spend it, the better return you have for your money. It is among us poor people that money is most unsatisfactory. It never brings so much as it ought,” she said, with that air of playfulness which, on such subjects, is the usual disguise for the most serious feeling. Lucy looked up at her with a gravity that disdained all disguise.
“But you do not mean to say, Lady Randolph, that you are poor?”
This question brought the color to Lady Randolph’s face. “You are very downright, my dear,” she said, “but I will be honest, too. Yes, Lucy, I am poor. The allowance that is made for you is a great matter for me. Without that I should not have dreamed— My dear, you must not think I mean anything unkind—”
“Oh, no; you could not have cared for me even had I been nicer than I am,” said Lucy, “for you had never seen me. Then I am rather glad it is so, Lady Randolph; but you should not give me so many things.”
Lady Randolph laughed, but the moisture came into her eyes. “Lucy, I begin to think you are a darling,” she said.
“Do you?” cried Lucy, with a warm flush which gave her face a certain beauty for a moment. “But I am afraid not,” she said, shaking her head. “Nobody ever said that. I am glad, very glad that you think you will not mind having me; and it is very, very kind of you to do so much for me. But I should be quite as happy if you liked me, and did not buy so many things for me. Is it vulgar to say it? I am almost afraid it is. I never had anything half—not a tenth part so nice at the Terrace as you give me here.”
“You were a little school-girl then, and now you are a young lady—a great heiress, and must begin to live as such people do.”
Lucy shook her head again. “I am only me,” she said, with a smile, “all the same.”
“Not quite the same; but to leave these perplexing subjects, what is to be done about your own studies, Lucy?”
“Must I have studies?” she asked, with a tone of melancholy; then added, submissively, “Whatever you think best, Lady Randolph.”