"I know this too," says the girl, petulantly, "that to be married to a man like Freddy, who consults your lightest wish, and is your lover always, is worth the enduring of anything." "I think that too," says Mrs. Monkton, who has now grown rather pale. "But there is still one more thing to know--that in making such a marriage as we have described, a woman lays out a thorny path for her husband. She separates him from his family, and as all good men have strong home ties, she naturally compels him to feel many a secret pang." "But he has his compensations. Do you think if Freddy got the chance, he would give you up and go back to his family?" "No--not that. But to rejoice in that thought is to be selfish. Why should he not have my love and the love of his people too? There is a want somewhere. What I wish to impress upon you, Joyce, is this, that a woman who marries a man against his parents' wishes has much to regret, much to endure." "I think you are ungrateful," says the girl a little vehemently. "Freddy has made you endure nothing. You are the happiest married woman I know." "Yes, but I have made _him_ endure a great deal," says Mrs. Monkton in a low tone. She rises, and going to the window, stands there looking out upon the sunny landscape, but seeing nothing. "Barbara! you are crying," says Joyce, going up to her abruptly, and folding her arms round her. "It is nothing, dear. Nothing at all, darling. Only--I wish he and his father were friends again. Freddy is too good a man not to regret the estrangement." "I believe you think Freddy is a little god!" says Joyce laughing. "O! not a _little_ one," says Mrs. Monkton, and as Freddy stands six foot one in his socks, they both laugh at this. "Still you don't answer me," says the girl presently. "You don't say 'you may' or 'you shan't'--which is it to be, Barbara?" Her tone is distinctly coaxing now, and as she speaks she gives her sister a little squeeze that is plainly meant to press the desired permission out of her. Still Mrs. Monkton hesitates. "You see," says she temporizing, "there are so many reasons. The Court," pausing and flushing, "is not _quite_ the house for so young a girl as you." "Oh Barbara!" "You can't misunderstand me," says her sister with agitation. "You know how I like, _love_ Lady Baltimore, and how good Lord Baltimore has been to Freddy. When his father cast him off there was very little left to us for beginning housekeeping with, and when Lord Baltimore gave him his agency--Oh, _well_! it isn't likely we shall either of us forget to be grateful for _that_. If it was only for ourselves I should say nothing, but it is for you, dear; and--this unfortunate affair--this determined hostility that exists between Lord and Lady Baltimore, makes it unpleasant for the guests. You know," nervously, "I hate gossip of any sort, but one must defend one's own."