That Robert was not as they were she admitted, gladly admitted. Yet he was their son; if she became his wife she would be in duty bound to regard his parents, in a sense, as hers; how could she pretend filial attachment and respect for such persons as they had shown themselves to be? Hers was the young girl's high ideal of marriage; husband and wife ought to be one; they ought to have a common community of interest; what was dear to the one should be dear to the other; how would that ideal work out if she were to marry Robert Spencer? Obviously, it would not work at all; he would be on one side; his parents--not improbably all his relatives and friends--would be on the other side, against her. It would begin in dissension, and end--where? Even the discovery that she was rich would make but little difference; she was not going to buy a husband from his father and mother, well knowing that all they wanted for the light of their countenance was their price, and that they would only consent to receive her into the family circle if she came plastered with gold. Rather than become a wife upon those terms she would remain a spinster all her life. She knew her weakness; if she came within reach of Robert her love--his love--might prove greater than her strength; that morning it had been all that she could do to keep herself out of his arms. Next time--and she was pretty sure that if Robert was in the neighbourhood there would be a next time before very long--she might succumb, and regret it ever afterwards. Better that she should leave Cloverlea than run such a risk.