"Very well: you don't intend to be sympathetic. I am quite satisfied. Now for my confession. Most unwittingly and innocently, I premise, was I led into the snare. Anne Ross! turn away from the window, and keep your glances within proper bounds. If your eyes wander so, I shall forget my own foolishness in yours--and I don't choose that." Anne obeyed, and Marjory told her story--sometimes overwhelmed with her own passionate humiliation, sometimes bursting into irrepressible mirth. It was very soon told. Anne looked annoyed and vexed. She did not speak. It was the sorest condemnation she could have given. "You have nothing to say to me!" exclaimed Marjory, the hot flood burning over her cheek, and neck, and forehead. "You think I am clearly hopeless now. You think--" "I think," said Anne, "that Marjory Falconer, whom malicious people blame for pride, is not half proud enough." "Not proud enough!" It was difficult to believe, indeed, when one saw the drawing-up of her tall, fine figure, and the flashing of her eye. "Yes, I understand. You would be proud enough were you Ralph; then, for everything brave, and honorable, and true, the fame of the Falconers would be safe in your hands: but you are not proud enough, being Marjory. I fancy we should inhabit a loftier atmosphere than these boyish frolics could find breath in, Marjory; an atmosphere too pure and rare to carry clamorous voices, whatever may be their burden." "Gentle and mild," said Marjory, attempting a laugh, which would not come; "perfumed and dainty. I am no exotic, Anne; I must breathe living air. I cannot breathe odors." Anne rose, and lifted her Bible from the table. "The sublime of mild and gentle belongs to One greater than us; but I don't want to compel you to these. Look here, Marjory." Marjory looked--read. "'Strength and honor are her clothing,'" and bowed her head, in token of being vanquished. "You have nothing to oppose to my argument," said Anne, smiling. "You are obliged to yield without a word. Let me convince you, Marjory, that we stoop mightily from our just position, when we condescend to meddle with such humiliating follies as the rights of women--that we do compromise our becoming dignity when we involve ourselves in a discreditable warfare, every step in advance of which is a further humiliation to us. I forgive you your share in this exploit with all my heart. I am not sorry the man is punished, though I would rather you had not been connected with his punishment. It is not very much, after all; but I do declare war against these polemics of yours--all and several.--I would have you more thoroughly woman-proud: it is by no means inconsistent with the truest humility. I would have you like this portrait; men do not paint in such vigorous colors now. Strength and honor, Marjory; household strength, and loftiness, and purity--better things than any imaginary rights that clamor themselves into mere words." Marjory was half angry, half smiling.