Again she roused herself, and as if ashamed of her emotion, hastened out of the room. She went upstairs, and locking herself in her room, threw herself on her bed. Here she gave way to feelings that were as new as strange to her, unaccustomed as she was to what some one calls 'the luxury of tears.' She scarcely knew whether sorrow or anger predominated, but she was wretched and indignant. Tumultuous thoughts rushed through her mind of the past, present, and probable future! thoughts too numerous and changeable to be transcribed, but which may well be imagined. At last her pride, that one grand feature of her character, got the better of her grief and anger. She rose from her bed, dried her eyes, arranged her hair, and with a carriage as erect as her soul was haughty, once more entered her father's library. The momentary emotion and pathos of their last embrace had been overpowered in both by stronger sensations; in him by the remembrance of Lady Mary Nugent's fascinations, in her by the sense of that lady's tact and duplicity. Freda sat quietly down opposite her father, and said abruptly,-- 'Papa, this odious subject must be begun and ended between us this day. If you will be good enough to answer me a few questions and to listen to me, I will never mention it again. Are you really engaged to Lady Mary Nugent, or is it a horrible dream?' 'I--yes--I certainly am, my dear--engaged to be married to her ladyship.' 'And you mean to marry her? Impossible!' 'Do you consider me a man of honour? or am I one likely to break my word when pledged?' 'Oh! papa, when a woman proposes and makes love, and waits till the very moment when it suits her own convenience to marry, do you think she deserves consideration? You know that Lady Mary Nugent has done it all herself, and that you would never have taken the trouble, or had the courage to propose for any woman under the sun, if she had not asked you first. You know you do not want to marry. I would give the world to know how she managed to bring you to the point.' 'Really, Freda, this is too--too--personal, and rude, I may call it--and--' 'Forgive me, papa. Of course you are your own master, and are at liberty to be chosen by any woman, but she will not choose me, nor I her. I hate Lady Mary Nugent, despise her most intensely, and shall leave this house before she comes into it; never--' It seemed as if an invisible hand checked the end of Freda's determination, for she stopped short at the 'never.' 'But what I came particularly to say, papa, is, that I believe I have some little private fortune of my own, my dear mother's, in short, and I suppose I can have that when I like.' 'Certainly--certainly--but--'