On their way home, his mother asked if he observed ’Lena when Mr. Graham was mentioned. Without saying that he did, Durward replied, “I noticed your remark to Mrs. Livingstone, and was sorry for it, for I do not wish you to say a word which will throw the least shade of suspicion upon ’Lena. Her reputation as yet is good, and you must not be the first to say aught against it.” “I won’t, I won’t,” answered Mrs. Graham, anxious to conciliate her son, but she found it a harder matter to refrain than she had first supposed. ’Lena was to her a constant eye-sore, and nothing but the presence of Durward prevented her from occasionally giving vent in public to expressions which would have operated unfavorably against the young girl, and when at last circumstances occurred which gave her, as she thought, liberty to free her mind, she was only too willing to do so. Of those circumstances, in which others besides ’Lena were concerned, we will speak in another chapter. CHAPTER XXIX. ANNA AND CAPTAIN ATHERTON. Malcolm Everett’s engagement with General Fontaine had expired, and as was his original intention, he started for New York, first seeking an interview with Mr. and Mrs. Livingstone, of whom he asked their daughter Anna in marriage, at the same time announcing the startling fact that they had been engaged for more than a year. “I do not ask you for her now,” said he, “for I am not in a situation to support her as I would wish to, but that time will come ere long, I trust, and I can assure you that her happiness shall be the first object of my life.” There was no cringing on the part of Malcolm Everett. He was unused to that, and as an equal meets an equal, he met them, made known his request, and then in silence awaited their answer. Had Mrs. Livingstone been less indignant, there would undoubtedly have ensued a clamorous call for hartshorn and vinaigrette, but as it was, she started up, and confronting the young man, she exclaimed, “How dare you ask such a thing? _My_ daughter marry _you_!” “And why not, madam?” he answered, coolly, while Mrs. Livingstone continued: “_You_, a low-born Yankee, who have been, as it were, an hireling. _You_ presume to ask for _my_ daughter!” “I do,” he answered calmly, with a quiet smile, ten-fold more tantalizing than harsh words would have been, “I do. Can I have her with your consent?” “Never, so long as I live. I’d sooner see her dead than wedded to vulgar poverty.” “That is your answer. Very well,” said Malcolm, bowing stiffly. “And now I will hear yours,” turning to Mr. Livingstone, who replied, that “he would leave the matter entirely with his wife—it was nothing to him—he had nothing personal against Mr. Everett—he rather liked him than otherwise, but he hardly thought Anna suited to him, she had been brought up so differently;” and thus evasively answering, he walked away.