A faintly satirical smile came upon the mouth of the Duke’s wife, who knew better than anybody how much was practicable in the way of making him hear reason. But she did not say anything. She let the lover talk. He went on with the conviction natural to his generation--that all these medieval prejudices were fictitious, and paternal tyranny a thing of the past. “Cruel fathers,” said Winton, “are things of the middle ages. I am not afraid of them any more than I am of the Castle Spectre. The Duke will rightly think that I am a poor sort of a fellow to ask his daughter from him. I ought to have been something very different--better, handsomer, cleverer.” “You are not at all amiss, Mr Winton,” said the Duchess, with a gracious smile. He made her a bow of acknowledgment, and his gratification was great--for who does not like to be told that he is considered a fine fellow? But he went on. “All this I feel quite as much as his Grace can do. The thing in my favour is that Jane----” the colour flew over his face as he called her so, and her mother, though she started slightly, acknowledged his rights by a little bow of assent, somewhat solemnly made,--“that Jane----” he went on repeating the sweet monosyllable, “does not mind my inferiority--is satisfied, the darling----” Here his happiness got into his voice as if it had been tears, and choked him. The Duchess bent her head again, “To me that is everything,” she said. “How could it be otherwise?” cried the young man; “it _is_ everything. I have no standing-ground, of course, of my own; but Jane--loves me! It is far too good to be true, and yet it is true. The Duke will not like it, let us allow; but when he sees that, and that she will not give up, but be faithful--faithful to the end of our lives---- Dear Duchess, I have the greatest veneration for your Grace’s judgment, but in this point one must go by reason. Life is not a melodrama. So long as the daughter is firm the father must yield.”