She took his offered hand and pressed it so warmly, that had he not been manly and big-hearted, he would have taken such pressure as a sign that she wished him to ask her again.  But such was his nature.

‘God bless you,’ he said, ’and make you happy, whatever you may choose to do.’

Then he left her, and she heard him walk down the stairs with heavy slow steps, and she thought that she could perceive from the sound that he was sad at heart, but that he was resolved not to show his sadness outwardly.

When she was alone she began to think in earnest of what she had done.  If the reader were told that she regretted the decision which she had been forced to make so rapidly, a wrong impression would be given of the condition of her thoughts.  But there came upon her suddenly a strange capacity for counting up and making a mental inventory of all that might have been hers.  She knew—­and where is the girl so placed that does not know?—­that it is a great thing to be an English peeress.  Now, as she stood there thinking of it all, she was Nora Rowley without a shilling in the world, and without a prospect of a shilling.  She had often heard her mother speak fearful words of future possible days, when colonial governing should no longer be within the capacity of Sir Marmaduke.  She had been taught from a very early age that all the material prosperity of her life must depend on matrimony.  She could never be comfortably disposed of in the world, unless some fitting man who possessed those things of which she was so bare, should wish to make her his wife.  Now there had come a man so thoroughly fitting, so marvellously endowed, that no worldly blessing would have been wanting.  Mr Glascock had more than once spoken to her of the glories of Monkhams.  She thought of Monkhams now more than she had ever thought of the place before.  It would have been a great privilege to be the mistress of an old time-honoured mansion, to call oaks and elms her own, to know that acres of gardens were submitted to her caprices, to look at herds of cows and oxen, and be aware that they lowed on her own pastures.  And to have been the mother of a future peer of England, to have the nursing, and sweet custody and very making of a future senator would not that have been much?  And the man himself who would have been her husband was such a one that any woman might have trusted herself to him with perfect confidence.  Now that he was gone she almost fancied that she did love him.  Then she thought of Hugh Stanbury, sitting as he had described himself, in a little dark closet at the office of the ’D.  R.,’ in a very old inky shooting-coat, with a tarnished square-cut cloth cap upon his head, with a short pipe in his mouth, writing at midnight for the next morning’s impression, this or that article according to the order of his master, ‘the tallow-chandler’; for the editor of the Daily Record was a gentleman whose father happened to be a grocer in the City,