‘Did he say how much?’

’How is he to pay anything?  Of all things men do this is the worst.  A man who would think himself disgraced for ever if he accepted a present of money will not scruple to use all his wits to rob his friend of everything that he has by studying the run of the cards or by watching the paces of some brutes of horses!  And they consider themselves to be fine gentlemen!  A real gentleman should never want the money out of another man’s pocket;—­should never think of money at all.’

’I don’t know how that is to be helped, my dear.  You have got to think of money.’

’Yes; I have to think of it, and do think of it, and because I do so I am not what I call a gentleman.’

‘No;—­my dear, you’re a lady.’

’Psha! you know what I mean.  I might have had the feelings of a gentleman as well as the best man that was ever born.  I haven’t; but I have never done anything so mean as gambling.  Now I have got something else to tell you.’

‘What is it?  You do frighten me so when you look like that.’

’You may well be frightened,—­for if this all comes round I shall very soon be able to dispense with you altogether.  His Royal Highness Lord Silverbridge—­’

‘What do you mean, Mabel?’

’He’s next door to a Royal Highness at any rate, and a much more topping man than most of them.  Well then;—­His Serene Highness the heir of the Duke of Omnium has done me the inexpressible honour of asking me—­to marry him.’

‘No!’

‘You may well say No. and to tell the exact truth, he didn’t.’

‘Then why do you say he did?’

’I don’t think he did quite ask me, but he gave me to understand that he would do so if I gave him any encouragement.’

‘Did he mean it?’

’Yes;—­poor boy!  He meant it.  With a word;—­with a look, he would have been down there kneeling.  He asked me whether I liked him well enough.  What do you think I did?’

‘What did you do?’

’I spared him;—­out of sheer downright Christian charity!  I said to myself, “Love your neighbours.”  “Don’t be selfish.”  “Do unto him as you would he should do unto you,"-that is, I think of his welfare.  Though I had him in my net, I let him go.  Shall I go to heaven for doing that?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Miss Cassewarey, who was much perturbed by the news she had just heard as to be unable to come to any opinion on the point just raised.

’Or mayn’t I rather go to the other place?  From how much embarrassment should I have relieved my father!  What a friend I should have made for Percival!  How much I might have been able to do for Frank!  And then what a wife I should have made him!’

‘I think you would.’

’He’ll never get another half so good; and he’ll be sure to get one before long.  It is a sort of tenderness that is quite inefficacious.  He will become a prey, as I should have made him a prey.  But where is there another who will treat him so well?’