“Is she handsome?” asked Jane.

“No; I thought her almost ugly till she opened her mouth, and then I forgot it, and felt the charm of the most winning manner and the most brilliant conversational power in the world.  Frenchwomen are not to compare with Englishwomen for beauty, but they can be irresistible without it.”

“How did you get an introduction to her?” asked Jane.

“French society is more accessible than it is here; but I met with a French gentleman in a cafe who had known my father, and who recognized my name, who introduced me to a good many very pleasant salons, and to Madame Lenoir’s among others.  Arnauld is dead; he fell in Algeria.  His sister speaks of him with the tenderest affection.”

“Is she happily married?  After all her mother’s solicitude, it would be hard if she too were sacrificed.”

“So far as I can see, she appears to be happy.  The husband is of suitable years and good character; not so brilliant as his wife.  But really what Madame de Girardin says appears to me to be true, that French women are superior to their so-called lords and masters.  It is strange to me, who have been always so shy, and so shut out from society, to be introduced—­or rather plunged—­into so much of it.”

“Had you not society of your own when you were in the bank—­your fellow-clerks and their wives and sisters?”

“I had little intimacy with any of them, and was particularly in want of acquaintances among the other sex.  A man with no relations who recognized his existence, and who is conscious of the doubtfulness of his birth, as I was, does not like to push himself into society in a country like this of Scotland, where family connections are overrated.  Now, every one seems to think that being owned by my father in his will quite sufficient, while I am more ashamed in my secret soul of my birth than I ever was.”

“Indeed!” said Jane, “I thought it would have pleased you to be acknowledged.”

“You should see, if the world does not, that if one party has juggled the other into a marriage, without any love on either side, it may involve legal succession to property, but does not make the birth a whit more respectable.  I had a mother who did not care for me, and a father who did his duty, as he fancied, by me, but who disliked me, and they appear to have hated one another.”

“You extorted respect and regard from your father, and you have cause to be proud of that.  If mutual love between parents is to be the great cause of pride of birth, I, too, have reason to be ashamed of mine, for I think my mother’s love was worn out before many years of married life were over, and my father’s never was anything but self-love and self-will.  But whatever our birth may be, we are all God’s children, and equal in His eyes, in that respect at least.——­Did Madame Lenoir speak to you of her mother?”

“Yes, she did, and recollected that my name was the name of an old and dear friend of her mother’s; so she was especially kind to me for my father’s sake.  I saw Madame de Vericourt’s portrait, too.  She was prettier than her daughter, at least in repose; but neither of them were at all like my ideal; for I forgot the French class of face, and embodied my fancy portraits in an English type.”