“I’m a pretty plain enigma, I should think,” said Cashel, mournfully. “I would rather have you than any other woman in the world; but you’re too rich and grand for me. If I can’t have the satisfaction of marrying you, I may as well have the satisfaction of saying I’d like to.” “Hardly a fair way of approaching the subject,” said Lydia, composedly, but with a play of color again in her cheeks. “Allow me to forbid it unconditionally. I must be plain with you, Mr. Cashel Byron. I do not know what you are or who you are; and I believe you have tried to mystify me on both points--” “And you never shall find out either the one or the other, if I can help it,” put in Cashel; “so that we’re in a preciously bad way of coming to a good understanding.” “True,” assented Lydia. “I do not make secrets; I do not keep them; and I do not respect them. Your humor clashes with my principle.” “You call it a humor!” said Cashel, angrily. “Perhaps you think I am a duke in disguise. If so, you may think better of it. If you had a secret, the discovery of which would cause you to be kicked out of decent society, you would keep it pretty tight. And that through no fault of your own, mind you; but through downright cowardice and prejudice in other people.” “There are at least some fears and prejudices common in society that I do not share,” said Lydia, after a moment’s reflection. “Should I ever find out your secret, do not too hastily conclude that you have forfeited my consideration.” “You are just the last person on earth by whom I want to be found out. But you’ll find out fast enough. Pshaw!” cried Cashel, with a laugh, “I’m as well known as Trafalgar Square. But I can’t bring myself to tell you; and I hate secrets as much as you do; so let’s drop it and talk about something else.” “We have talked long enough. The music is over, and the people will return to this room presently, perhaps to ask me who and what is the stranger who made them such a remarkable speech.” “Just a word. Promise me that you won’t ask any of THEM that.” “Promise you! No. I cannot promise that.” “Oh, Lord!” said Cashel, with a groan. “I have told you that I do not respect secrets. For the present I will not ask; but I may change my mind. Meanwhile we must not hold long conversations. I even hope that we shall not meet. There is only one thing that I am too rich and grand for. That one thing--mystification. Adieu.” Before he could reply she was away from him in the midst of a number of gentlemen, and in conversation with one of them. Cashel seemed overwhelmed. But in an instant he recovered himself, and stepped jauntily before Mrs. Hoskyn, who had just come into his neighborhood. “I’m going, ma’am,” he said. “Thank you for a pleasant evening--I’m very sorry I forgot myself. Good-night.”