‘Marian,’ said she, with a forced smile, ‘I have come to give you a bit of news.’ ‘What, mother?’ ‘My hand has been asked in marriage, dear, and I have accepted.’ I felt the blood rush to my face, and then I turned cold, and, pulling a chair to me, sat down, but I did not speak. ‘Do you hear me, child?’ ‘Your hand has been asked in marriage?’ said I. ‘By whom, mother?’ ‘By Mr. Stanford,’ she answered, lowering her voice and sinking her eyes. ‘Mr. Stanford?’ I cried. ‘The doctor?’ ‘Whom else?’ she replied, looking at me again and forcing another smile. I was thunderstruck. Never for an instant had I suspected that there was more between them than such commonplace, matter-of-fact friendship as may exist between a medical man and those whom he attends. Mr. Stanford was the doctor one of the servants had run for when my father died. He had attended us during the preceding year, and he had prescribed for mother and me since, so that at this date we had known him six years. He was a widower and childless, and lived within ten minutes’ walk of our house. Occasionally he had looked in upon us, and sat during an evening for an hour or so; sometimes he had dined with us and we with him; but never had I observed any sort of behaviour in him or mother to hint at what was coming--at what, indeed, had now come. I should be needlessly detaining you from my own story to repeat all that passed between my mother and me on this occasion. I was beside myself with anger, mortification, jealousy--for I was jealous of my father’s memory, abhorred the thought of his place being taken in his own house and in the affection of the wife whom he had loved, by such a man as Mr. Stanford. Nay, but it would have been all the same had Mr. Stanford been the greatest nobleman or the first character in Europe. I should have abominated him as an intruder, and have yearned for the hands of a man to toss him out o’ window should he dare to occupy a house in which my father was as real a presence to my heart as though he were still alive and could kiss me and make me presents and carry me away out of the gloomy streets into the shining holiday road of the river.