"I also married greatly; greatly, as the world's honours are concerned. In mere rank I stood as a girl higher perhaps than you do now. But I was lifted out of my own degree, and in accepting the name which my husband gave me I assured myself that I would do honour to it, at any rate by my conduct. I did it no dishonour;--but my marriage was most unfortunate." "Was he good?" asked Marion. "He was weak. Are you sure that Lord Hampstead is strong? He was fickle-hearted. Can you be sure that Lord Hampstead will be constant amidst the charms of others whose manners will be more like his own than yours can be?" "I think he would be constant," said Marion. "Because you are ready to worship him who has condescended to step down from his high pedestal and worship you. Is it not so?" "It may be that it is so," said Marion. "Ah, yes, my child. It may be that it is so. And then, think of what may follow,--not only for him, but for you also; not only for you, but for him also. Broken hearts, crushed ambitions, hopes all dead, personal dislikes, and perhaps hatred." "Not hatred; not hatred." "I lived to be hated;--and why not another?" Then she was silent, and Marion rising from her seat kissed her, and went away to her home. She had very much to think of. Though she had declared that she had almost expected this offer from her lover, still it could not be that the Quaker girl, the daughter of Zachary Fay, Messrs. Pogson and Littlebird's clerk, should not be astounded by having such an offer from such a suitor as Lord Hampstead. But in truth the glory of the thing was not very much to her. It was something, no doubt. It must be something to a girl to find that her own personal charms have sufficed to lure down from his lofty perch the topmost bird of them all. That Marion was open to some such weakness may be acknowledged of her. But of the coronet, of the diamonds, of the lofty title, and high seats, of the castle, and the parks, and well-arranged equipages, of the rich dresses, of the obsequious servants, and fawning world that would be gathered around her, it may be said that she thought not at all. She had in her short life seen one man who had pleased her ear and her eye, and had touched her heart; and that one man had instantly declared himself to be all her own. That made her bosom glow with some feeling of triumph! That same evening she abruptly told the whole story to her father. "Father," she said, "Lord Hampstead was here to-day." "Here, in this house?" "Not in this house. But I met him at our friend's, whom I went to see, as is my custom almost daily." "I am glad he came not here," said the Quaker. "Why should you be glad?" To this the Quaker made no answer. "His purpose was to have come here. It was to see me that he came." "To see thee?" "Father, the young lord has asked me to be his wife." "Asked thee to be his wife!"