“Lord--William--Daw,” said Mr. Helmstedt, with the same deliberate and scornful intonation, “may not have been personally the equal of the lady to whom he aspired. Very young men frequently raise their hopes to women ‘who are, or ought to be, unattainable’ by them. Miss De Lancie is not one to permit herself to be dazzled by the glitter of mere rank and title.” Yes. Philip Helmstedt hoped, believed, in more success for himself than had attended any among his predecessors or temporary rivals. True, indeed, his recommendations, personal as well as circumstantial, to the favor of this “fourth Grace and tenth Muse,” were of the first order. The last male representative of an ancient, haughty, and wealthy family, their vast estates centered in his possession--he chose to devote many years to study and to travel. An accomplished scholar, he had read, observed and reflected, and was prepared, at his own pleasure, to confer the result upon the world. A tried and proved soldier, he might claim military rank and rapid promotion. Lastly, a pre-eminently fine looking person, he might aspire to the hand of almost any beauty in the city, with every probability of success. But Philip Helmstedt was fastidious and proud to a degree of scornful arrogance--that was his one great, yes, terrible sin. It was the bitter upas of his soul that poisoned every one of the many virtues of his character. But for scorn, truth, justice, prudence, temperance, generosity, fortitude, would have flourished in his nature. It was this trenchant arrogance that made him indifferent to accessory honors--that made him as a profound student, regardless of scholastic fame--as a brave soldier, careless of military glory--as an accomplished gentleman, negligent of beauty’s allurements. It was this arrogance in fine, that entered very largely into his passion for the magnificent Marguerite. For here at last, in her, he found a princess quite worthy of his high devotion, and he resolved to win her. God have mercy on any soul self-cursed with scorn.