"Have you fixed upon your wife?" she inquired, drawing a deep breath. "I have asked this young lady to be my wife." He indicated me, standing as I did back against the window. Mrs. Chandos looked at me, her bright colour varying. The same thought evidently crossed her that I had thought might cross them—my unfitness in point of rank. She spoke to him proudly and coldly. "Your wife will be Lady Chandos now, you must remember." "I do not forget it, Ethel." She sighed imperceptibly, and turned to the door. He went to open it for her. "Emily and mamma have gone to the west wing. I should not like to go there: I never saw anybody dead. I was almost afraid to come down the stairs, and now I am afraid to go up them." "Do you wish to go up?" asked Sir Harry. "Yes. I wish to be in my own rooms." He held out his arm to her, and she took it. I stayed alone, wishing the explanation had been made before he went away. But ere the lapse of a minute Mrs. Chandos was in the east wing, and he back in the room with me. "Would you please let me speak to you a moment," I said—for he had only returned to take up a small parcel left on the table: and he came up to me, putting it down again. But I could not speak. No, I could not. Now that the moment was come, every word went out of my mind, power of utterance from my mouth. He stood looking at me—at my evident agitation and whitening lips. "It is only right that I should speak; I have been waiting all the afternoon to do so, Mr. Chandos—I beg your pardon; I mean Sir Harry," I brought out at last, and the very fact of speaking gave me courage. "I wish—I wish——" "Why, Anne what is the matter?" he asked, for a great breath like a sob stopped me, momentarily. "What is it that you wish?" "To tell you that I quite absolve you from anything you have said to me:" and the shame I felt at having betrayed emotion brought to me a sudden and satisfactory coldness of manner. "Please not to think any more about me. It is not your fault, and I shall not think it is. Let it all be forgotten." A perception of my meaning flashed upon him, badly though I had expressed it. He looked at me steadily. "Do you mean, not think further of making you my wife?" "Yes." "Very well. But now will you tell me why you say this?" I hesitated. I think I was becoming agitated again: all because I knew I was getting through my task so stupidly. "Circumstances have altered with you." "Well, yes, in a measure. I am a trifle richer; and my wife—as Ethel remarked just now—will be Lady instead of Mrs. Chandos. Why should you object to that?" "Oh, Mr. Chandos, you know. It is not I who would object; but your family. And—perhaps—yourself." "Anne, I vow I have a great mind to punish you for that last word. Oh, you silly child!" he continued, putting his arms round my waist and holding me close before him. "But that it would punish me as well as you, I'd not speak to you for three days: I'd let you think I took you at your word."