“Is it true, Miss Dillon,” he said to her one morning, after a lagging conversation of some twenty minutes’ duration—­“is it true, Miss Dillon, that you have discarded altogether the attentions of Mr. ——?” and he named the old gentleman whose offer had been so painful to Rose, and who was now made painfully aware that the subject had been publicly talked of.  This confused her.  “Nay,” he continued, “I think you ought to be very proud of the fact, for he is worth two hundred thousand pounds.”

“If he were worth ten hundred thousand, it would make no difference to me,” was the reply.

“Then, you admit the fact.”

Rose could not tell a falsehood, though she confessed her pain that it should be known.  “I intend,” she added, “to remain in my own quiet sphere of life; I am suited for no other.”

The gentleman made no direct reply, but from that hour he observed Rose narrowly.  The day of the election came, with its bribery and its bustle.  Suffice it, that the Honourable Mr. Ivers was declared duly elected—­that the splendour of the late member’s wife’s entertainments and beauty, were perfectly eclipsed by the entertainments and beauty of the wife of the successful candidate—­that every house, except one, in the town was splendidly illuminated—­and that the people broke every pane of glass in the windows of that house, to prove their attachment to the great principle of freedom of election.  “God bless you, cousin!” said Rose; “God bless you—­your object is attained.  I hope you will sleep well to-night.”

“Sleep!” she exclaimed; “how can I sleep?  Did you not hear the wife of a mere city baronet inquire if late hours did not injure a country constitution; and see the air with which she said it?”

“And why did you not answer that a country constitution gave you strength to sustain them?  In the name of all that is right, dearest Helen, why do you not assert your dignity as a woman, instead of standing upon your rank?  Why not, as a woman, boldly and bravely revert to your former position, and at the same time prove your determination to support your present?  You were as far from shame as Helen Marsh of Abbeyweld, as you are as the wife of an honourable member.  Be yourself.  Be simply, firmly yourself, my own Helen, and you will at once, from being the scorned, become the scorner.”

“This from you, who love a lowly state?”

“I love my own birthright, lowly though it be.  No one will attempt to pull me down.  I shall have no heartaches—­suffer no affronts?”

“Oh!” said Helen, “if I had but been born to what I possess.”

“Mr. Stokes said if you had been born an honourable, you would have grasped at a coronet.”

“And I may have it yet,” replied the discontented beauty, with a weary smile; “I may have it yet; my husband’s brother is still childless.  If I could be but certain that the grave would receive him a childless man, how proudly I would take precedence of such a woman as Lady G——­”