"You have a nice face, and my son has fancied it," said the countess contemptuously. "You ought to be grateful to me for separating you from my son now. I am doing for him the kindest thing that any one could do. I know Lord Chandos better than any one else, and I know that he tires of everything in a short time. He would have wearied of you by Christmas, and would have loathed the chains he had forged for himself. When he was a child he tired of a new toy in half an hour--his disposition has not changed." "I cannot believe it," cried Leone. "I will not believe it, great lady as you are. You are wicked to malign your own son." "I do not malign him," said the countess, indifferently. "Many gentlemen think it quite complimentary to be called changeable. My son has always been known as one of the most variable of men; nothing pleases him long; it is seldom that anything pleases him twice. You think he will always love you; let me ask you why? You have a pretty face, granted; but there is nothing under the sun of which a man tires sooner. You have nothing else; you have no education, no accomplishments, no good birth; I should say no good breeding, no position, rank, or influence. If I may speak my mind plainly, I should say that it was a most impertinent presumption for you, a farmer's niece, even to dream of being Lady Chandos--a presumption that should be punished, and must be checked. You would, without doubt, make an excellent dairy-maid, even a tolerable housekeeper, but a countess never. The bare idea is intolerable." She grew more angry as she spoke; for the girl's grace and beauty, the wonderful sweetness of her voice, the passion, the power, the loveliness of her face, began to tell upon her; she could not help owning to herself that she had seen nothing so marvelous as this wonderful girl. "Then," said Leone, calmly, "I have appealed to you in vain?" "Quite in vain," replied my lady. "Remember that against you personally I have nothing to say, neither have I any dislike; but if you have common sense, you will see that it is utterly impossible for my son to take the future Countess of Lanswell from a farmhouse. Now try and act rationally--go away at once, leave my son, and I will see that you have plenty to live upon." "Whatever may be said of the class from which I spring," cried Leone, "I believe in the sanctity of marriage, and I would scorn to barter my love for anything on earth." "Yes, that is all very pretty and very high-flown," said the countess, with a contemptuous laugh; "but you will find a few thousand pounds a very comfortable matter in a few years' time." "You said you would rather see your son dead than married to me, Lady Lanswell; I repeat that I would rather die of hunger than touch money of yours. I did not know or believe that on the face of God's earth there was ever a creature so utterly hard, cold and cruel as you."