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.” “My dear, you are far too good. I should like you to have a little will of your own.” “Oh, yes, I have a will of my own. If you please, I do not wish to have any more lessons. I will read books; but they all said I never would play very well, and I can not draw at all. I can speak French a little, but it is very bad, and I have done about twenty German exercises,” Lucy said, with a shudder. “Poor child! but I fear you must go on with these dreadful experiences. Perhaps a good German governess for a year--” Lucy shuddered again. She thought of the Fraulein at the White House, with an inward prayer for deliverance. The Fraulein knew everything, all her own business, and other people’s special branches, even better than her own. Her very spectacles shone with knowledge. “They can not be _all_ like each other,” Lucy said, “and I will do whatever you like, Lady Randolph.” There was never a girl so docile and obedient. Lady Randolph almost regretted the absence of all struggle, till her eyes fell upon little Jock in the corner, holding his book somewhat languidly. Jock did not care for this correct literature; the last thing in the world that he had any acquaintance with was the doings of children at school. “Do you like your story-book, Jock?” “No,” said Jock, concisely. He let it drop from his hand; he did not even feel very deeply desirous of knowing what was the end.