Frances became accustomed to the presence of young Ramsay after this. He appeared almost every day, very often in the afternoon, eager for tea, and always disposed to inquire for further _renseignements_, though he was quite certain that he was not to leave England till autumn at the earliest. She began to regard him as a younger brother, or cousin at the least--a perfectly harmless individual, with whom she could talk when he wanted her with a gentle complacence, without any reference to her own pleasure. As a matter of fact, it did not give her any pleasure to talk to Claude. She was kind to him for his sake; but she had no desire for his presence on her own account. It surprised her that he ever could have been thought of as a possible mate for Constance. Constance was so much cleverer, so much more advanced in every way than herself, that to suppose she could put up with what Frances found so little attractive, was a constant amazement to the girl. She could not but express this on one of the occasions, not so very frequent as she had expected, on which her mother and she were alone together. “Is it really true,” she said at the end of a long silence, “that there was a question of a--marriage between Constance and Mr Ramsay?” “It is really quite true,” said her mother with a smile. “And why not? Do you disapprove?” “It is not that I disapprove--I have no right to disapprove; it is only that it seems so impossible.” “Why? I see nothing impossible in it. He is of suitable age; he is handsome. You cannot deny that he is handsome, however much you may dislike him, my dear.” “But I don’t dislike him at all; I like him very much--in a kind of way.” “You have every appearance of doing so,” said Lady Markham with meaning. “You talk to him more, I think, than to any one else.” “That is because----” “Oh, I don’t ask any reason, Frances. If you like his society that is reason enough--the best of reasons. And evidently he likes you. He would, no doubt, be more suitable to you than to Constance.” “Mamma! I don’t know what you mean.” Frances woke up suddenly from her musing state, and looked at her mother with wide open startled eyes. “I don’t mean anything. I only ask you to point out wherein his unsuitability lies. Young, handsome, _nice_, and very rich. What could a girl desire more? You think, perhaps, as you have been so simply brought up, that a heroine like Con should have had a Duke or an Earl at the least. But people think less of the importance of titles as they know Society better. Claude is of an excellent old family--better than many peers. She would have been a very fortunate young woman with such an establishment; but she has taken her own way. I hope you will never be so hot-headed as your sister, Frances. You look much more practical and reasonable. You will not, I think, dart off at a tangent without warning or thought.”