"That is news to me." "Why, one of her parents was a Clifford, and your own sister. And one of mine was an Irish woman." "Yes; an O'Ryan; not a trader; not a small-coal man." "Like the Marquis of Londonderry, sir, and the Earl of Durham. Come, father, don't sacrifice your son, and his happiness and his love for you, to notions the world has outlived. Commerce does not lower a gentleman, nor speculation either, in these days. The nobility and the leading gentry of these islands are most of them in business. They are all shareholders, and often directors of railways, and just as much traders as the old coach proprietors were. They let their land, and so do you, to the highest bidder, not for honor or any romantic sentiment, but for money, and that is trade. Mr. Bartley is his own farmer; well, so was Mr. Coke, of Norfolk, and the Queen made him a peer for it--what a sensible sovereign! Are Rothschild and Montefiore shunned for their speculations by the nobility? Whom do their daughters marry? Trade rules the world, and keeps it from stagnation. Genius writes, or paints, or plays Hamlet--for money; and is respected in exact proportion to the amount of money it gets. Charity holds bazars, and sells at one hundred per cent. profit, and nearly every new church is a trade speculation. Is my happiness and hers to be sacrificed to the chimeras and crotchets that everybody in England but you has outlived?" "All this," replied the unflinching sire, "I have read in the papers, and my son shall not marry the daughter of a trader and cad who has insulted me grossly; but that, I presume, you don't object to." This stung Walter so that he feared to continue the discussion. "I will not reply," said he. "You drive me to despair. I leave you to reflect. Perhaps you will prize me when you see me no more." With this he left the room, packed up his clothes, went to the nearest railway, off to London, collected his funds, crossed the water, and did not write one word to Clifford Hall, except a line to Julia. "Left England heart-broken, the victim of two egotists and my sweet Mary's weak conscientiousness. God forgive me, I am angry even with her, but I don't doubt her love." This missive and the general consternation at Clifford Hall brought Julia full gallop to Mary Bartley. They read the letter together, and Julia was furious against Colonel Clifford. But Mary interposed. "I am afraid," said she, "that I am the person who was most to blame." "Why, what have you done?" "He said our case was desperate, and waiting would not alter it; and he should leave the country unless--" "Unless what? How can I advise you if you have any concealments from me?" "Well, then, it was unless I would consent to a clandestine marriage." "And you refused--very properly." "And I refused--very properly one would think--and what is the consequence? I have driven the man I love away from his friends, as well as from me, and now I begin to be very sorry for my properness."