"If that is so, it is fortunate that we are able to have this talk--at this moment. For I wish, before you take any final decision, to lay before you what the view of my son's family must inevitably be of such a marriage." "The view of Lord Coryston and yourself?" said Miss Glenwilliam, in her most girlish voice. "My son Coryston and I have at present no interests in common," was Lady Coryston's slightly tart reply. "That, I should have thought, considering his public utterances, and the part which I have always taken in politics, was sufficiently evident." Her companion, without speaking, bent over the sticks of the fan, which her long fingers were engaged in straightening. "No! When I speak of the family," resumed Lady Coryston, "I must for the present, unfortunately, look upon myself as the only sure guardian of its traditions; but that I intend to be--while I live. And I can only regard a marriage between my son and yourself as undesirable--not only for my son--but first and foremost, Miss Glenwilliam, for yourself." "And why?" Laying down the fan upon her knee, the young lady now applied her nimble fingers to smoothing the white and curling tips of the feathers. The color rushed into Lady Coryston's lightly wrinkled cheeks. "Because it rarely or never answers that persons from such different worlds, holding such different opinions, and with such different antecedents, should marry," she said, firmly. "Because I could not welcome you as a daughter--and because a marriage with you would disastrously affect the prospects of my son." "I wonder what you mean by 'such different worlds,'" said Miss Glenwilliam, with what seemed an innocent astonishment. "Arthur and I always go to the same dances." Lady Coryston's flush deepened angrily. She had some difficulty in keeping her voice in order. "I think you understand what I mean. I don't wish to be the least rude." "Of course not. But--is it my birth, or my poverty, that you most dislike?" "Poverty has nothing to do with it--nothing at all. I have never considered money in connection with Arthur's marriage, and never shall." "Because you have so much of it?" Lifting her broad, white brow from the fan on her knee, Enid turned the astonishing eyes beneath it on the lady in black sitting beside her. And for the first time the lady in black was conscious of the malice lurking in the soft voice of the speaker. "That, perhaps, would be your way of explaining it. In any case, I repeat, money has nothing to do with the present case. But, Miss Glenwilliam, my son belongs to a family that has fought for its convictions." At this the younger lady shot a satiric glance at the elder, which for the moment interrupted a carefully prepared sentence.