She had long known that it was her duty to marry, and especially her duty to marry well.  Between her and her mother there had been no reticence on this subject.  With worldly people in general, though the worldliness is manifest enough and is taught by plain lessons from parents to their children, yet there is generally some thin veil even among themselves, some transparent tissue of lies, which, though they never quite hope to deceive each other, does produce among them something of the comfort of deceit.  But between Lady Augustus and her daughter there had for many years been nothing of the kind.  The daughter herself had been too honest for it.  “As for caring about him, mamma,” she had once said, speaking of a suitor, “of course I don’t.  He is nasty, and odious in every way.  But I have got to do the best I can, and what is the use of talking about such trash as that?” Then there had been no more trash between them.

It was not John Morton whom Arabella Trefoil had called nasty and odious.  She had had many lovers, and had been engaged to not a few, and perhaps she liked John Morton as well as any of them, except one.  He was quiet, and looked like a gentleman, and was reputed for no vices.  Nor did she quarrel with her fate in that he himself was not addicted to any pleasures.  She herself did not care much for pleasure.  But she did care to be a great lady,—­one who would be allowed to swim out of rooms before others, one who could snub others, one who could show real diamonds when others wore paste, one who might be sure to be asked everywhere even by the people who hated her.  She rather liked being hated by women and did not want any man to be in love with her,—­except as far as might be sufficient for the purpose of marriage.  The real diamonds and the high rank would not be hers with John Morton.  She would have to be content with such rank as is accorded to Ministers at the Courts at which they are employed.  The fall would be great from what she had once expected,—­and therefore she was miserable.  There had been a young man, of immense wealth, of great rank, whom at one time she really had fancied that she had loved; but just as she was landing her prey, the prey had been rescued from her by powerful friends, and she had been all but broken-hearted.  Mr. Morton’s fortune was in her eyes small, and she was beginning to learn that he knew how to take care of his own money.  Already there had been difficulties as to settlements, difficulties as to pin-money, difficulties as to residence, Lady Augustus having been very urgent.  John Morton, who had really been captivated by the beauty of Arabella, was quite in earnest; but there were subjects on which he would not give way.  He was anxious to put his best leg foremost so that the beauty might be satisfied and might become his own, but there was a limit beyond which he would not go.  Lady Augustus had more than once said to her daughter that it would not do; and then there would be all the weary work to do again!