“You tell me,” she continued, “that you are now almost a beggar; and that, therefore, you resign my hand. But, excuse me—for surely it is not unmaidenly for me to say this—are you doing right in acting thus? Is wealth necessary to happiness? Will not a sufficiency insure felicity if there is real love in the union? You have talents, and I hope, energy; if I thought otherwise I could not love you. You have also a profession, which you avow your intention of following. Pray do not misunderstand me—I do not wish to make myself a burden to you—but neither must you suppose that I am base enough to you, or sufficiently ignorant of what will constitute my own happiness, to refuse you because you are a poor, instead of a rich man. In a worldly view even a penniless lawyer,” she said, smiling, “is a very good match for the companion of a rich heiress.” Amazement at this noble conduct had kept Derwent silent until now, but he could no longer remain quiet. “And you are generous enough,” he cried, “to unite your fate with mine, if ever I grow rich enough to offer you a home?” “I am not very exacting in my tastes, Mr. Derwent,” replied the fair girl, “and, therefore, shall be contented with what you would think a very humble home. The moment, therefore, that you can give me one, in which you will be willing to live yourself, that moment I will become your wife. But remember,” she added archly, “I am flesh and blood after all, and cannot live merely on love. I am willing, with that confidence which my affection inspires, to wait for you, and believe you will never seek me until you can support me; but that will not be long hence, if I judge your talents aright. And now never, never,” she added earnestly, “doubt again a woman’s single-heartedness in love.” Derwent was equally bewildered and transported. In his wildest dreams he had never imagined Miss Stanhope as noble and generous as he now found her. He told her as much. “You flatter me more than I deserve,” she replied. “Life, in all circumstances, is a season of trial; wealth cannot secure immunity from trouble; and perhaps the happiest, after all, are those who labor for their daily bread, because their toil sweetens the meal. Nay, I am sure I shall love you more, because I shall think you more manly.” Derwent parted from Miss Stanhope a different man from what he had been before the interview. It was not the knowledge of her love merely which had worked the change in him, but it was the discovery that he had thought the human heart more selfish than it is, that he had doubted the existence of a generous affection. They parted that evening. Miss Stanhope, though she pledged herself to Derwent, stipulated that he should not accompany her to the South, but that he should at once begin the practice of his profession.