'What a speech!' cried Lady Maulevrier, delighted, her cheeks glowing, her eyes kindling; 'what a noble fellow the speaker must be! Oh, Mary, I must tell you a secret. I loved that man's father. Yes, my dear, I loved him fondly, dearly, truly, as you love that young man of yours; and he was the only man I ever really loved. Fate parted us. But I have never forgotten him--never, Mary, never. At this moment I have but to close my eyes and I can see his face--see him looking at me as he looked the last time we met. He was a younger son, poor, his future quite hopeless in those days; but it was not my fault we were parted. I would have married him--yes, wedded poverty, just as you are going to marry this Mr. Hammond; but my people would not let me; and I was too young, too helpless, to make a good fight. Oh, Mary, if I had only fought hard enough, what a happy woman I might have been, and how good a wife.' 'You were a good wife to my grandfather, I am sure,' faltered Mary, by way of saying something consolatory. A dark frown came over Lady Maulevrier's face, which had softened to deepest tenderness just before. 'A good wife to Maulevrier,' she said, in a mocking tone. Well, yes, as good a wife as such a husband deserved. 'I was better than Cæsar's wife, Mary, for no breath of suspicion ever rested upon my name. But if I had married Ronald Hollister, I should have been a happy woman; and that I have never been since I parted from him.' 'You have never seen the present Lord Hartfield, I think?'