"Now you are just as far the other way," said I. "You are quite my equal in every respect, and very much my superior in most things. I am greatly honored by your regard, and do really wish that I could return it. You must see that I should have everything to gain, if I did, and therefore you should allow that my refusal is disinterested. Besides, even if I did, there is another lion in the way. I have promised my Lady, in the most solemn manner, not to leave Lady Betty for at least a year." I was sorry I said as much, for he caught at it directly. "Then you will wait that time before coming to a final decision. You will let me try to change your mind. I promise you that you shall not be urged or annoyed in any way. Only wait a year before quite deciding." "I do not feel that a year will make the least difference," said I, feeling vexed at him and at myself. "I wish you would put the matter out of your head, and marry somebody else." "I shall never marry anybody else," said he, flashing up. "It may be this disappointment is a punishment laid upon me for entertaining the notion of marriage at all. I suppose Lady Jemima would say so." "Never mind Lady Jemima, but follow your own good sense, Mr. Penrose," said I. "Do you think if marriage had been such a sin, so many of the apostles would have married? I hope to see you well settled with a wife yet, and as happy as you deserve to be in your own family. Then I will come and see you, and be Aunt Margaret to every one, though Lady Betty says aunts are always cross." He smiled faintly, kissed my hand, and went away looking very crestfallen, and I went back to my room, and had a good cry, partly because I was sorry for him, partly, I believe, because I was a little sorry for myself. He is a good man, that I am sure of, and a gentleman bred as well as born, which is more than one can say for some folks; and the parsonage is so nice, and then it would be so pleasant to have a home to which I could ask dear mother. I shall never have another so good a chance of settling in life to advantage. But after all, I feel that I never can bring my mind to marry Mr. Penrose. I could as soon sell myself for a slave. And I should not make him happy, either. I feel sure that all the good would die out of me, and all the evil increase tenfold. I could never ask God's blessing on such a marriage. When I went back to Lady Betty, I found her in tears, and Mary in vain trying to pacify her. It seems the story of Mr. Penrose's offer has gone all through the household (thanks, I must say, to his own awkwardness in the matter), and Mary, who, with her good qualities, is somewhat of a gossip, had been telling Betty, thinking, to be sure, the child would be delighted. As soon as I came near, Betty threw her arms round my neck, and sobbed out, "O Margaret, don't go away and leave me! I shall die if you do!"