"I like you, Rosamund Lindley," Cousin Geoffrey had said in his letter; "you are no beggar, and no fawner. You are a simple-minded, honest, downright English girl. You have courage, too, and I always respect courage. You have come to me to help you with your art. You have done this with such a ludicrous, belief in yourself and your own powers, with such a simple sort of vanity, that I should probably have tried to cure it by granting your request had you come to me as a stranger. But I cannot look upon you as a stranger, Rosamund; you belong to my own kith and kin, and you are the daughter of the woman I love best on earth. Because you are Mary Rutherford's daughter I give you half my wealth _if you fulfil the conditions I require_!" I knew these words of the long letter almost by heart; I said them over to myself many times. When the first light of morning dawned I rose from my chair, stretched my cramped limbs, pinched my arms to see if I were awake or if I had only been going through a horrid nightmare; opened the window, took in a draught of the cool morning air, and putting Cousin Geoffrey's letter into my pocket went down-stairs. The place looked as I had left it last night--our maid-of-all-work had not yet come down-stairs. Ugly Poverty surrounded me, and once more it hemmed me tightly around, and made its presence more felt even than of old, I had looked into a land of promise--an ideal and lovely country. I had thought to enter; but alas! iron bars of pride, of maidenly modesty, of right feeling, of even righteousness, kept me out. All the womanhood within me declared wildly and desperately-- "Even to enter into that promised land you shall not sell yourself?" Ugly Poverty and I must still be close acquaintances--nay more, we must be intimate friends, even comrades, walking the path of life side by side and hand in hand. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. ARE THE CONDITIONS IMPOSSIBLE? "Now, my dear young lady," said Mr Gray; "now, my dear, good Miss Rosamund, let me ask you if you are doing right in flinging the gifts of Providence from you?" "I am doing perfectly right," I retorted with spirit. "Pardon me, please do pardon me; youth is so impulsive and hot-headed; youth is so assertive, so positive, it must be guided by age--it simply must. Now, Miss Rosamund, will you sit down in this easy-chair? Will you sit perfectly still, and allow me to speak for three or four minutes?" "Yes, you may certainly do that," I replied. "Take this chair, then; lean back in it. It is known to have the most soothing effect imaginable on irritable nerves." "Thank you very much; but my nerves are not irritable, and I prefer to stand." "Good heavens! Rosamund Lindley's nerves not irritable. Rosamund, who is all fire and impatience; all quicksilver; the most sensitive, the most nervous of mortals." "Oh, please, please, Mr Gray, don't discuss me. If you have anything to say, please say it quickly."