“Do, dear,” said Lady Markham, turning half round with a smile. “After luncheon, she is going out with me; but in the meantime, you could not do better--get a little of the morning into her face, while I finish my letters.” She turned again with a soft smile on her face to send off that piece of information to Louisa Avenel and Mary St Serle, closing an envelope as she spoke, writing the address with such a preoccupied yet amiable air--a woman who, but for having so much to do, would have had no thought or ambition beyond her home. Markham waited till Frances appeared in the trim little walking-dress which the mother had paid her the high compliment of making no change in. They turned their faces as usual towards the Park, where already, though Easter was very near, there was a flutter of fine company in preparation for the more serious glories of the Row, after the season had fairly set in. “Little Fan, you mustn’t fight,” were the first words that Markham said. She felt her heart begin to beat loud. “Markham! there is nothing to fight about--oh, nothing. What put fighting in your head?” “Never mind. It is my duty to instruct your youth; and I think I see troubles brewing. Don’t be so kind to that little beggar Claude. He is a selfish little beggar, though he looks so smooth; and since Constance won’t have him, he will soon begin to think he may as well have you.” “Markham!” Frances felt herself choking with horror and shame. “You have got my name quite pat, my dear; but that is neither here nor there. Markham has nothing to do with it, except to put you on your guard. Don’t you know, you little innocent, what is the first duty of a mother? Then I can tell you: to marry her daughters well; brilliantly, if possible, but at all events _well_--or anyhow to marry them; or else she is a failure, and all the birds of her set come round her and peck her to death.” “I often don’t understand your jokes,” said Frances, with a little dignity, “and I suppose this is a joke.” “And you think it is a joke in doubtful taste? So should I, if I meant it that way, but I don’t. Listen, Fan; I am much of that opinion myself.” “That a mother--that a lady----? You are always saying horrible things.” “It is true, though--if it is best that a girl should marry--mind you, I only say if--then it _is_ her mother’s duty. You can’t look out for yourself--at least I am very glad you are not of the kind that do, my little Fan.” “Markham,” said Frances, with a dignity which seemed to raise her small person a foot at least, “I have never heard such things talked about; and I don’t wish to hear anything more, please. In books,” she added, after a moment’s interval, “it is the gentlemen----” “Who look out? But that is all changed, my dear. Fellows fall in love--which is quite different--and generally fall in love with the wrong person; but you see I was not supposing that you were likely to do anything so wild as that.”