'Ah, yes; but how fit? Think of your position, Frank, and what means you have of keeping her. Think what you are. Your father's only son; the heir to Greshamsbury. If Greshamsbury be ever again more than a name, it is you that must redeem it. Of all men living you are the least able to marry a girl like Mary Thorne.'
'Mother, I will not sell myself for what you call my position.'
'Who asks you? I do not ask you; nobody asks you. I do not want you to marry any one. I did think once—but let that pass. You are now twenty-three. In ten years' time you will still be a young man. I only ask you to wait. If you marry now, that is, marry such a girl as Mary Thorne—'
'Such a girl! Where shall I find such another?'
'I mean as regards money, Frank; you know I mean that; how are you to live? Where are you to go? And then, her birth. Oh, Frank! Frank!'
'Birth! I hate such pretence. What was—but I won't talk about it. Mother, I tell you my word is pledged, and on no account will I be induced to break it.'
'Ah, that's just it; that's just the point. Now, Frank, listen to me. Pray listen to me patiently for one minute. I do not ask much of you.'
Frank promised that he would listen patiently; but he looked anything but patient as he said so.
'I have seen Mary, as it was certainly my duty to do. You cannot be angry with me for that.'
'Who said that I was angry, mother?'
'Well, I have seen her, and I must own, that though she was not disposed to be courteous to me, personally she said much that marked her excellent good sense. But the gist of it was this; that as she had made you a promise, nothing should turn her from that promise but your permission.'
'And do you think—'
'Wait a moment, Frank, and listen to me. She confessed that this marriage was one which would necessarily bring distress on all your family; that it was one which would probably be ruinous to yourself; that it was a match which could not be approved of: she did, indeed; she confessed all that. "I have nothing," she said—those were her own words—"I have nothing to say in favour of this engagement, except that he wishes it." That is what she thinks of it herself. "His wishes are not a reason; but a law," she said—'
'And, mother, would you have me desert such a girl as that?'
'It is not deserting, Frank: it would not be deserting: you would be doing that which she herself approves of. She feels
