The New Magdalen

"I saw her yesterday," Horace answered.

"She understands, I hope, that I am not well enough to call on her? She

is not offended with me?"

Horace recovered his serenity. The deference to his mother implied in

Mercy's questions gently flattered his self-esteem. He resumed his place

on the sofa.

"Offended with you!" he answered, smiling. "My dear Grace, she sends you

her love. And, more than that, she has a wedding present for you."

Mercy became absorbed in her work; she stooped close over the

embroidery--so close that Horace could not see her face. "Do you know

what the present is?" she asked, in lowered tones, speaking absently.

"No. I only know it is waiting for you. Shall I go and get it to-day?"

She neither accepted nor refused the proposal--she went on with her work

more industriously than ever.

"There is plenty of time," Horace persisted. "I can go before dinner."

Still she took no notice: still she never looked up. "Your mother is

very kind to me," she said, abruptly. "I was afraid, at one time, that

she would think me hardly good enough to be your wife."

Horace laughed indulgently: his self-esteem was more gently flattered

than ever.

"Absurd!" he exclaimed. "My darling, you are connected with Lady Janet

Roy. Your family is almost as good as ours."

"Almost?" she repeated. "Only almost?"

The momentary levity of expression vanished from Horace's face. The

family question was far too serious a question to be lightly treated A

becoming shadow of solemnity stole over his manner. He looked as if it

was Sunday, and he was just stepping into church.

"In OUR family," he said, "we trace back--by my father, to the Saxons;

by my mother, to the Normans. Lady Janet's family is an old family--on

her side only."

Mercy dropped her embroidery, and looked Horace full in the face. She,

too, attached no common importance to what she had next to say.

"If I had not been connected with Lady Janet," she began, "would you

ever have thought of marrying me?"

"My love! what is the use of asking? You _are_ connected with Lady

Janet."

She refused to let him escape answering her in that way.

"Suppose I had not been connected with Lady Janet?" she persisted.

"Suppose I had only been a good girl, with nothing but my own merits to

speak for me. What would your mother have said then?"

Horace still parried the question--only to find the point of it pressed

home on him once more.

"Why do you ask?" he said.

"I ask to be answered," she rejoined. "Would your mother have liked you

to marry a poor girl, of no family--with nothing but her own virtues to

speak for her?"

Horace was fairly pressed back to the wall.