“Do not ask me, pray do not,” said Lotte, seriously and earnestly, in reply. “Why not?” he asked, with surprise. “Because,” she answered, “you have gone too far already for your own peace, and--I--I wish you to see--what you have overlooked--the difference between your position and mine.” “What difference, Lotte?” he asked, almost sharply. “You are well born, of a long line of ancestry--so your sister has told me--you are now wealthy, and will be richer still; I am but a humble needlewoman, poor, my only dowry a pure name. You see I cannot be admitted into your family, or, if I were, it might be to meet with disdainful looks, and to hear, perhaps, contemptuous remarks which would break my heart. It will, therefore, be better that we should part now. I shall always think of you kindly, and--and----” She could get no further, and placed her handkerchief before her eyes to conceal the emotion which the image of parting with him for ever created. Mark waved his hand impetuously and stamped his foot impatiently. “Lotte,” he said, “leave me to be the judge of what constitutes the difference in our social position. Mine, as yours, is the accident of birth, and in taking you to my bosom, your social condition can have no weight with me. In my hearing none will dare utter a derogatory word or bend a haughty look at my choice. Those who attempt it may be wealthy and purse-proud, but they would be so mean in soul I would not mix with them, and I should return their contempt with interest. I need, Lotte, a pure mind and a loving, faithful heart, to companion me through life, because my future happiness will be wholly dependent upon those qualities. I have mixed with many grades of people, and lived through some wild scenes, and I am somewhat unsettled in my nature. I require a gentle counsellor, one fond enough of me to make my home to me the centre of paradise on earth, while I endeavour to make her life as free from care and as full of unalloyed happiness as it is possible for such an one as myself to accomplish. You, Lotte, are the pure and loving woman upon whom my heart settles like the dove on the ark; mere worldly distinctions I despise. You have centred in your sweet self all I desire to possess.” “I am very grateful to you, Mr. Wilton,” she responded. He interrupted her. “Mark! my name is Mark! do call me Mark!” he exclaimed earnestly. It was strange to see how his fond eyes brought the colour in her cheeks. She smiled, but yet it was a saddened smile. “I am grateful,” she repeated, “for your kindness, but you have failed to convince me that an alliance between us will be what is termed a fitting match. Your father----” “Lotte! Lotte!” he interposed, “only answer me this. Could you be happy with me as my wife, irrespective of the considerations you suggest?” She hesitated to answer, and cast her eyes upon the ground. Once more he stole his arm about her waist, and bent his lips to her ear.