“My dear, one ambitious marriage in the family is quite enough!  I have made up my mind that you shall marry the man you love.  Don’t tell me your courage is failing you—­the excuse is contemptible; I decline to receive it.  Natalie! the men have a phrase which exactly describes your character.  You want back-bone!”

The bonnet of the lady who expressed herself in these peremptory terms barely reached the height of Natalie’s shoulder.  Natalie might have blown the little airy, light-haired, unsubstantial creature over the railings of the garden if she had taken a good long breath and stooped low enough.  But who ever met with a tall woman who had a will of her own?  Natalie’s languid brown eyes looked softly down in submissive attention from an elevation of five feet seven.  Lady Winwood’s brisk blue eyes looked brightly up in despotic command from an elevation of four feet eleven (in her shoes).

“You are trifling with Mr. Linzie, my dear.  Mr. Linzie is a nice fellow.  I like him.  I won’t have that.”

“Louisa!”

“Mr. Turlington has nothing to recommend him.  He is not a well-bred old gentleman of exalted rank.  He is only an odious brute who happens to have made money.  You shall not marry Mr. Turlington.  And you shall marry Launcelot Linzie.”

“Will you let me speak, Louisa?”

“I will let you answer—­nothing more.  Didn’t you come crying to me this morning?  Didn’t you say, ’Louisa, they have pronounced sentence on me!  I am to be married in the first week of the New Year.  Help me out of it, for Heaven’s sake!’ You said all that, and more.  And what did I do when I heard your story?”

“Oh, you were so kind—­”

“Kind doesn’t half express it.  I have committed crimes on your account.  I have deceived my husband and my mother.  For your sake I got mamma to ask Mr. Linzie to lunch (as my friend!).  For your sake I have banished my unoffending husband, not an hour since, to his club.  You wretched girl, who arranged a private conference in the library?  Who sent Mr. Linzie off to consult his friend in the Temple on the law of clandestine marriage?  Who suggested your telegraphing home, and stopping here for the night?  Who made an appointment to meet your young man privately in this detestable place in ten minutes’ time?  I did!  I did!  I did!  All in your interests.  All to prevent you from doing what I have done—­marrying to please your family instead of to please yourself. (I don’t complain, mind, of Lord Winwood, or of his daughters. He is charming; his daughters I shall tame in course of time.  You are different.  And Mr. Turlington, as I observed before, is a brute.) Very well.  Now what do you owe me on your side?  You owe it to me at least to know your own mind.  You don’t know it.  You coolly inform me that you daren’t run the risk after all, and that you can’t face the consequences on second thoughts.  I’ll tell you what!  You don’t deserve that nice fellow, who worships the very ground you tread on.  You are a bread-and-butter miss.  I don’t believe you are fond of him!”