He stopped and looked at her; she was watching him with an expression of frankness and sympathy. “Vane,” he began slowly, “I came down this morning on purpose to talk to my mother on a subject that is more than life to me. I anticipate--I know--I shall have a hard struggle with her, though, despite all she may say, I shall be firm. Will you help me in this struggle?” Vane rose to her feet again; her breath was coming fast, and a presentiment of something disagreeable passed through her mind. “Tell me what it is, Stuart,” she said, quietly, unfurling a large fan she carried, and holding it against the light, ostensibly to shield her face from the sun, in reality to keep it hidden from her cousin. “Vane, do you remember the fourth day of your visit here, when I took you to see Sir Charles?” “Yes,” she answered. “Do you remember a girl who was sitting in a corner and who brought me some water for the dog? I introduced her--Margery Daw.” Vane caught Stuart’s eager glance, and her heart seemed to cease beating. “Yes,” she replied, a little coldly. “Vane, that is my secret; that is the girl I love better than any one or anything in the world--Margery Daw.” Vane Charteris was silent for a moment. She felt as though her vexation and jealousy would choke her; then she forced herself to be firm and calm. She dropped her fan and moved out of the sunlight; her face was very pale, but she smiled as Stuart looked at her eagerly. “Well,” she said, quietly, “and--and you want me to help you--how?” “You will?” he asked, with gladness on his face. Vane put one hand on her chair for support. “Am I not your friend?” she smiled, faintly. “Oh, thank you--thank you!” he cried, rising from his chair; but Vane gently pushed him back again. “Tell me what you want,” she urged, standing at his side, so that he could not see her pallor and annoyance. “I want you to plead with me to my mother--not for myself--I am strong enough”--and Stuart drew himself up proudly--“I would face the whole world. I want you to be a friend to Margery, as you would be to me. She may need your help; a woman such as you, Vane, can do much--smooth many difficulties. You can see how angry my mother will be. I shall not care for her anger; but Margery is so tender, so sweet, so proud--anger will humiliate and distress her; and, if you aid her, she will scarcely feel it, I am sure.” “Then you have not spoken to Aunt Constance yet?” Vane observed, very quietly. “I am afraid you will have great trouble. You see, Stuart, your--your wife will be of low station, and your mother is proud.” “We do not know what Margery’s birth may be; but that does not affect me. I love her; she shall be my wife. Ah, you do not know her, Cousin Vane, or you would not have said that! There may be some mystery connected with her birth; but there is no stain on her. If ever there was a lady, she is one.”