“The idea?”

“Of marrying her, of course, and so redeeming himself.  She is not what I would have chosen for him, I admit that; but all things must give way before the ruin that threatens us.”

“Yes; true—­all things,” says Mrs. Bethune in a low tone.

“You see that.  But how to bring Maurice to the point?  He is so very difficult. You, Marian—­you have influence with him——­”

“I?”

Mrs. Bethune rises in the slow, beautiful fashion that is hers always; she moves towards the window.  There is no hurry, no undue haste, to betray the disquietude of her soul.

“You—­you, of course,” says Lady Rylton peevishly.  “I always rely upon you.”

“I have no influence!”

“You mean, of course, that you will not use it,” says Lady Rylton angrily.  “You still think that you will marry him yourself, that perhaps his uncle will die and leave him once more a rich man—­the master of The Place, as the old Place’s master should be; but that is a distant prospect, Marian.”

Mrs. Bethune has swung around, her beautiful figure is drawn up to its most stately height.

“Not another word!” says she imperiously.  “What have I to do with your son?  Let him marry—­let him marry——­” She pauses as if choking, but goes on again:  “I tell you I have no influence—­none! Appeal to Margaret, she may help you!”

“She—­no!”

“Hush! here she is.  Yes; ask her,” says Mrs. Bethune, as if desirous of letting Lady Rylton hear the opinion of the new-comer on this extraordinary subject.

CHAPTER II.

HOW MARGARET PLEADS FOR THE LITTLE HOYDEN, AND WITH WHAT ILL-SUCCESS.

Margaret Knollys, entering the room and seeing the signs of agitation in the two faces before her, stops on the threshold.

“I am disturbing you.  I can come again,” says she, in her clear, calm voice.

“No,” says Mrs. Bethune abruptly.

She makes a gesture as if to keep her.

“Not at all.  Not at all, dear Margaret.  Pray stay, and give me a little help,” says Lady Rylton plaintively.

She pulls forward a little chair near her, as if to show Margaret that she must say, and Miss Knollys comes quickly to her.  Marian Bethune is Lady Rylton’s real niece.  Margaret is her niece by marriage.

A niece to be proud of, in spite of the fact that she is thirty years of age and still unmarried.  Her features, taken separately, would debar her for ever from being called either pretty or beautiful; yet there have been many in her life-time who admired her, and three, at all events, who would have gladly given their all to call her theirs.  Of these one is dead, and one is married, and one—­still hopes.