‘Daphne, there is something in your tone that alarms me. It is so unnatural in a girl of your age. While you were at Asnières, did you ever see anyone—you were such a child, that it seems foolish to ask such a question—but was there anyone at Asnières whom——’ ‘Whom I fell in love with? No, dearest, there was no one at Asnières. Madame Tolmache was most judicious in her selection of masters. I don’t think the most romantic school-girl, fed upon three-volume novels, could have fancied herself in love even with the best-looking of them.’ ‘I can’t make you out, Daphne. Yet I think you might be very happy as Edgar Turchill’s wife. It would be so nice for us to be living in the same county, within a few miles of each other.’ ‘Yes, that would be nice; and it would be nicer to be at Hawksyard than to stay at South Hill when you are gone. Yet you see I have too much self-respect to perjure myself, and pretend to return poor Edgar’s affection.’ ‘I have been thinking, Daphne, that perhaps some sense of mistaken pride may stand between you and Edgar.’ And then, falteringly, ashamed of her own generosity, Madoline told her sister how she meant to divide her fortune. ‘What!’ cried Daphne, turning pale; ‘take his money? Not a sixpence. Never speak of it—never think of such a thing again.’ ‘Whose money, dear? It is mine, and mine alone. I have the right to do what I like with it.’ ‘Would you dispose of it without asking Mr. Goring’s leave—without consulting him?’ ‘Hardly, because I love him too well to take any step in life without asking his advice—without confiding fully in him. But he goes with me in this heart and soul, Daphne; he most thoroughly approves my plan.’ ‘You are very good—he is very generous—but I will never consent to accept sixpence out of your fortune. You may be as generous to me as you like—as you have always been, darling. You may give me gloves and frocks and pocket-money, while you are Miss Lawford: but to rob you of your rights; to lessen your importance as Mrs. Goring; to feel myself under an obligation to your husband—not for all this wide world. Not if money could make me happy—which it could not,’ she added with a stifled sob. ‘Daphne, are you not happy?’ questioned Lina, looking at her with sudden distress. ‘My bright one, I thought your life here was all gladness and pleasure. You have seemed so happy with Edgar, so thoroughly at your ease with him, that I fancied you must be fond of him.’ ‘Should I be thoroughly at my ease with a man I loved, unless—unless our attachment were an old story—a settled business—like yours and Mr. Goring’s?’ ‘Why will you persist in calling him Mr. Goring?’ ‘Oh, he is such a grand personage—the owner of an abbey, with cloisters, and half a mile of hot-houses—I could not bring myself to call him by his christian-name.’