To his intense astonishment it was in French they spoke: and a certain sense of terror came over him as to what this might portend. Were these spies of the enemy, and was the mine about to be sprung beneath him? One was a female voice, a clear, distinct voice--which he thought he knew well, and oh, what inexpressible relief to his anxiety was it when he recognized it to be Julia L'Estrange's. She spoke volubly, almost flippantly, and, as it seemed to Bramleigh, in a tone of half sarcastic raillery, against which her companion appeared to protest, as he more than once repeated the word “sérieuse” in a tone almost reproachful. “If I am to be serious, my Lord,” said she, in a more collected tone, “I had better get back to English. Let me tell you then, in a language which admits of little misconception, that I have forborne to treat your Lordship's proposal with gravity, partly out of respect for myself, partly out of deference to you.” “Deference to me? What do you mean? what can you mean?” “I mean, my Lord, that all the flattery of being the object of your Lordship's choice could not obliterate my sense of a disparity, just as great between us in years as in condition. I was nineteen my last birthday, Lord Culduff;” and she said this with a pouting air of offended dignity. “A peeress of nineteen would be a great success at a drawing-room,” said he, with a tone of pompous deliberation. “Pray, my Lord, let us quit a theme we cannot agree upon. With all your Lordship's delicacy, you have not been able to conceal the vast sacrifices it has cost you to make me your present proposal I have no such tact. I have not even the shadow of it; and I could never hope to hide what it would cost me to become _grande dame_.” “A proposal of marriage; an actual proposal,” muttered Bramleigh, as he arose to move away. “I heard it with my own ears; and heard her refuse it, besides.” An hour later, when he mounted the steps of the chief entrance, he met Marion, who came towards him with an open letter. “This is from poor Lord Culduff,” said she; “he has been stopping these last three days at the L'Estranges', and what between boredom and bad cookery, he could n't hold out any longer. He begs he may be permitted to come back here; he says, 'Put me below the salt, if you like,--anywhere, only let it be beneath your roof, and within the circle of your fascinating society.' Shall I say Come, papa?” “I suppose we must,” muttered Bramleigh, sulkily, and passed on to his room. CHAPTER XXI. GEORGE AND JULIA.