"Yes, I know." "I repeat, that I sat down and counted _the cost_; and I grow more willing to pay it year by year. But, Anne dear." and she laid her hand impressively on my arm, "I would not recommend my plan of action to others. It has answered in my case, for Mr. Hemson is a man in a thousand; and I have dug a grave and buried my pride; but in nine cases out of ten it would bring unhappiness, repentance, bickering. Nothing can be more productive of misery generally, than an unequal marriage." I did not quite understand. She had said that she was paying off the cost year by year. "Yes, Anne. One part of the cost must always remain——a weighty incubus. It is not only that I have put myself beyond the pale of my own sphere, but I have entailed it on my children. My girls must grow up in the state to which they are born: let them be ever so refined, ever so well educated, a barrier lies across their path: in visiting, they must be confined to their father's class; they can never expect to be sought in marriage by gentlemen. Wealthy tradespeople, professional men, they may stand a chance of; but gentlemen, in the strict sense of the term, never." "Will they feel it?" "No, oh no. That part of the cost is alone mine. I have taken care not to bring them up to views above their father's station. There are moments when I wish I had never had children. We cannot put away our prejudices entirely, we Keppe-Carews, you see, Anne," she added, with a light laugh. "I don't think anybody can," I said, with a wise shake of the head. "And now, Anne—to change the subject—what were the details of that dreadful tragedy at Mr. Edwin Barley's?" "I cannot tell them," I answered, with a rushing colour, remembering Mr. Edwin Barley's caution as to secrecy. Mrs. Hemson misunderstood the refusal. "Poor child! I suppose they kept particulars from you: and it was right to do so. Could they not save Selina?" "No—for she died. Mr. Edwin Barley says he knows she was treated wrongly." "Ill-fated Selina! Were you with her when she died, Anne?" "I was with her the night before. We thought she was getting better, and she thought it. She had forgotten all about the warning, saying it must be a dream." "About the what?" interrupted Mrs. Hemson. "While Selina was ill, she saw mamma. She said the Keppe-Carews always had these warnings." "Child, be silent!" imperatively spoke Mrs. Hemson. "How could they think of imbuing you with their superstitions. It is all fancy." "Mamma had the same warning, Mrs. Hemson. She said papa called her." "Be quiet, I say, child!" she repeated, in a tone of emotion. "These subjects are totally unfit for you. Mind, Anne, that you do not allude to them before my little girls; and forget them yourself." "They do not frighten me. But I should not speak of them to any one but you, Mrs. Hemson."