He had thought money was everything, but it was not what he thought. Lucy was glad that she had not written to Mr. Chervil about it as she had intended, for most likely he would have laughed at her, or perhaps been angry. Evidently the only thing for her to do was to “read,” as Lady Randolph advised her, and try to learn German, and keep as quiet as possible. It was dull, very dull, without Jock, but Lucy was of a patient disposition, and reconciled herself gradually to her life. On the whole, however, this life was a life full of pleasantness to which the most exacting young person might easily have reconciled herself. Lady Randolph was very kind--indeed, as time went on, she got to like Lucy very sincerely, appreciating the good qualities of a girl who brought so much into the establishment and took so little out, who gave no trouble at all, as the servants said, rather despising her for it. But Lady Randolph did not despise her. She knew the value of a companion who was always contented, and aspired after no forbidden pleasures of society, and did not so much as understand the A B C of flirting. Such a girl was of rare occurrence in the world, or, at least, so persons of experience, accustomed to think the worst of all classes of their fellow-creatures, said. A girl who was always willing to do what she was told, and who set up no will of her own, and had no confidential visitor, except Mr. Chervil, who was one of her legal guardians, was a charge with whom any chaperon might be pleased; provided all went as well next year, when Lucy came out; but Lady Randolph piously reflected that no one could tell what might happen before that. Lucy excited no strong feeling: there was little in her (except her fortune) to take hold of the imagination; but her quiet presence was always soothing and pleasant. Lady Randolph professed to go little into society that season, “saving herself up,” as she said, for the next, when it would be her more arduous duty to take Lucy out. But though she did not go out much, that did not prevent her from enjoying a great many dinner-parties, and even occasionally “looking in” upon some dear duchess’s ball; and Lucy spent many quiet evenings at home, in which her chief amusement was to hear the carriages of the people who were enjoying themselves roll up and down the street, and in wondering how she would like it next year, when she would be enjoying herself too. She did not at all dislike these quiet evenings, and, on the whole, her life passed very pleasantly as the spring grew into summer, and the season came to its prime. She rode in the morning, sometimes in the park, when Lady Randolph could find suitable companions for her, and often going as far as Hampstead, where Mary Russell looked out upon her from the school-room window with cheerful friendliness; and Bertie, not very sure of his skill, came out to put her on her horse when she was ready to go, and bit his young mustache with envy and anger against