“I don’t know what you could do, my dear,” Mrs. Stone said, with a smile, “but your sympathy is sweet. He was not quite so successful at the University, there is such competition, but still he did very well, and also in his work at the bar. For he is a barrister,” said Mrs. Stone, with a thrill of pride in her voice, “he has been called, and was just at the beginning of his career, when his health failed. Can you imagine such a disappointment, such a commentary upon the vicissitudes of life! Just when he was in a position to justify all our hopes his health gave way.” “I am so sorry,” Lucy looked up at her friend with the profoundest pity in her blue eyes, but something else besides, a spark of hidden interest, the gleam with which an explorer’s eyes shine when he finds some new sphere of discovery, a new world to conquer. Lucy had not been very happy in her first venture, but she jumped at the thought of a second venture, if it might be found practicable. It was she now who pressed Mrs. Stone’s arm, clinging closely to it “I am so sorry! I hope he may soon get better. Is there nothing that could be done?” “Rest is all he wants, my dear, rest and a relief from anxiety, and something to do quietly, that will not strain him. As soon as I knew you were coming back I immediately thought of Jock. Poor Frank is very independent; he would be less unhappy if he had something to do. And it is providential for you, for Jock must begin to have something done for his education; I consider it quite providential for you.” “If Mr. St. Clair would be so kind. But would he like it, a gentleman, and a lawyer, and so clever?” said Lucy, puzzled. “Jock is such a little, little fellow.” “He will take Jock,” said Mrs. Stone, with tranquil assurance. “He would not take any little boy, of course, but Jock is exceptional, Jock is your brother, and you know my interest in you, Lucy. Yes, my dear, do not be afraid, Frank will take Jock. And now that this is settled--and I wanted to make your mind easy on the subject--let us talk of other things. What is all this story about the Russells, Lucy? You have not allowed Bertie to--he has not, I hope, really acquired any-- It is so difficult to speak to you on such a subject, but you know I am a kind of guardian too. I should not approve of Bertie Russell. I could never give my consent--” “To what?” said Lucy, with great surprise. “Is it about his book, Mrs. Stone? It was not my fault, indeed, it was not any one’s fault. I suppose he never thought that people would take any notice. It was just a mistake, a foolish thing to do. I think even Lady Randolph, though she was so angry, got to see that at last.” “Then there is nothing more, Lucy; you can assure me, on your word, that there is nothing more?” Lucy was more surprised than ever. “What should there be more?” she said. Mrs. Stone laughed, and made no reply.