“No, not aloud.”

“Neither aloud or alow.  I never proposed to her.”

“Very well, Marmaduke:  there is no use now in blaming Auntie or excusing yourself.  If you have made up your mind, there is an end.”

“But you cant make out that I am acting meanly, Marian.  Why, I have everything to lose by giving her up.  There is her money, and I suppose I must prepare for a row with the family; unless the match could be dropped quietly.  Eh?”

“And is that what you want me to manage for you?”

“Well—.  Come, Marian! dont be savage.  I have been badly used in this affair.  They forced it on me.  I did all I could to keep out of it.  She was thrown at my head.  Besides, I once really used to think I could settle down with her comfortably some day.  I only found out what an insipid little fool she was when I had a woman of sense to compare her with.”

“Dont say hard things about her.  I think you might have a little forbearance towards her under the circumstances.”

“Hm!  I dont feel very forbearing.  She has been sticking to me for the last few days like a barnacle.  Our respectable young ladies think a lot of themselves, but—­except you and Nelly—­I dont know a woman in society who has as much brains in her whole body as Susanna Conolly has in her little finger nail.  I cant imagine how the deuce you all have the cheek to expect men to talk to you, much less marry you.”

“Perhaps there is something that honest men value more than brains.”

“I should like to know what it is.  If it is something that ladies have and Susanna hasnt, it is not either good looks or good sense.  If it’s respectability, that depends on what you consider respectable.  If Conny’s respectable and Susanna isnt, then I prefer disrepu—­”

“Hush, Duke, you know you have no right to speak to me like this.  Let us think of poor Constance.  How is she to be told the truth?”

“Let her find it out.  I shall go back to London as soon as I can; and the affair will drop somehow or another.  She will forget all about me.”

“Happy-go-lucky Marmaduke.  I think if neglect and absence could make her forget you, you would have been forgotten before this.”

“Yes.  You see you must admit that I gave her no reason to suppose I meant anything.”

“I am afraid you have consulted your own humor both in your neglect and your attentions, Duke.  The more you try to excuse yourself, the more inexcusable your conduct appears.  I do not know how to advise you.  If Constance is told, you may some day forget all about your present infatuation; and then a mass of mischief and misery will have been made for nothing.  If she is not told, you will be keeping up a cruel deception and wasting her chances of——­but she will never care for anybody else.”

“Better do as I say.  Leave matters alone for the present.  But mind! no speculating on my changing my intentions.  I wont marry her.”