‘There is nothing gained by making cruel speeches, grandmother,’ said Mary, firmly.  ’I have promised to be John Hammond’s wife, and there is nothing you nor anyone else can say which will make me alter my mind.  I wish to act dutifully to you, if I can, and I hope you will be good to me and consent to this marriage.  But if you will not consent, I shall marry him all the same.  I shall be full of sorrow at having to disobey you, but I have promised, and I will keep my promise.’

’You will act in open rebellion against me—­against the kinswoman who has reared you, and educated you, and cared for you in all these years!’

‘But you have never loved me,’ answered Mary, sadly.  ’Perhaps if you had given me some portion of that affection which you lavished on my sister I might be willing to sacrifice this now deep love for your sake—­to lay down my broken heart as a sacrifice on the altar of gratitude.  But you never loved me.  You have tolerated me, endured my presence as a disagreeable necessity of your life, because I am my father’s daughter.  You and Lesbia have been all the world to each other; and I have stood aloof, outside your charmed circle, almost a stranger to you.  Can you wonder, grandmother, recalling this, that I am unwilling to surrender the love that has been given me to-day—­the true heart of a brave and good man!’

Lady Maulevrier looked at her for some moments in scornful wonderment; looked at her with a slow, deliberate smile.

‘Poor child!’ she said; ’poor ignorant, inexperienced baby!  For what a Will-o-the-wisp are you ready to sacrifice my regard, and all the privileges of your position as my granddaughter!  No doubt this Mr. Hammond has said all manner of fine things to you; but can you be weak enough to believe that he who half a year ago was sighing and dying at the feet of your sister can have one spark of genuine regard for you?  The thing is not in nature; it is an obvious absurdity.  But it is easy enough to understand that Mr. Hammond without a penny in his pocket, and with his way to make in the world, would be very glad to secure Lady Mary Haselden and her five hundred a year, and to have Lord Maulevrier for his brother in-law?’

’Have I really five hundred a year?  Shall I have five hundred a year when I marry?’ asked Mary, suddenly radiant.

‘Yes; if you marry with your brother’s consent.’

’I am so glad—­for his sake.  He could hardly starve if I had five hundred a year.  He need not be obliged to emigrate.’

’Has he been offering you the prospect of emigration as an additional inducement?’

’Oh, no, he does not say that he is very poor, but since you say he is penniless I thought we might be obliged to emigrate.  But as I have five hundred a year—­’

‘You will stay at home, and set up a lodging-house, I suppose,’ sneered Lady Maulevrier.

’I will do anything my husband pleases.  We can live in a humble way in some quiet part of London, while Mr. Hammond works at literature or politics.  I am not afraid of poverty or trouble, I am willing to endure both for his sake.’