After their return to Millbank she resolved to push matters a little, and so one afternoon, when she chanced to be walking with Frank from the office to the house, she broached the subject by asking how long he intended to let matters go on as they were going, and why he did not at once propose to Magdalen, and not keep her in suspense! “_Suspense!_ mother;” and Frank looked up joyfully. “Do you think,—do you believe Magdalen really cares for me? I have been afraid it was only a sisterly regard, such as she would feel for me were I really her brother.” “She must be a strange girl to conduct herself towards you as she does and not seriously care for you,” Mrs. Walter Scott replied; and Frank continued, “She has been different since we came from New York, I know, and has not kept me quite so much at arm’s-length. Mother,” and Frank spoke more energetically than before, “I am so glad you have broken the ice; so glad you like her and are willing. I did not know but you might object, you are so straight-laced about blood and birth and all that.” “I am a little particular about such things, I’ll admit,” Mrs. Irving replied; “but in Magdalen’s case I am ready to make an exception. She is a splendid girl and created a great sensation in New York; while better than all, she is, or will be, an heiress. Roger has made his will, and on her bridal day she is to have one hundred thousand dollars dowry.” “How do you know that?” Frank asked quickly, and his mother replied: “No matter how. It is sufficient that I do know it, and with poverty staring us in the face the sooner you appropriate that hundred thousand the better for both of us.” “Mother,” and Frank spoke sternly, “I wonder what you take me for! A mere mercenary wretch? Understand plainly that I am not so base as that, and I love Magdalen well enough to marry her if she was never to have a penny in the world. Much as I hate work I could work for _her_, and a life of poverty shared with her has more attractions for me than all the kingdoms in the world shared with another.” They had reached Millbank by this time, and Magdalen met them at the door. She had been out for a drive, and the exercise and clear wintry air had brought a deeper glow than usual to her cheeks and made her eyes like diamonds. She had never been more beautiful to Frank than she was that evening in her soft crimson dress, with her hair arranged in long curls, which fell about her face and neck in such profusion. Magdalen did not often curl her hair; it was too much trouble, she said, and she had only done so to-day because of something which Roger had said to her. He had been standing with her before the picture of his mother, whose golden hair covered her like a veil, and to Magdalen, who admired the flowing tresses, he had said, “Why don’t you wear curls, Magda? I like so much to see them when I know they are as natural as yours would be.”