"I am not a Socialist," says Margaret slowly, "and yet why cannot this child be accepted as one of ourselves? Where is the great difference? You object to her marrying your son, yet you _want_ to marry her to your son. How do you reconcile it? Surely you are more of Socialist than I am. You would put the son of a baronet and the daughter of heaven knows who on an equality." "Never!" says Lady Rylton. "You don't understand. She will always be just as she is, and Maurice----" "And their children?" asks Margaret. Here Mrs. Bethune springs to her feet. "Good heavens! Margaret, have you not gone far enough?" says she. If her face had been pale before, it is livid now. "Why, this marriage--this marriage"--she beats her hand upon a table near her--"one would think it was a fact accomplished!" "I was only saying," says Miss Knollys, looking with a gentle glance at Marian, "that if Maurice _were_ to marry this girl----" "It would be an honour to her," interrupts Lady Rylton hotly. "It would be a degradation to him," says Margaret coldly. "He does not love her." She might have said more, but that suddenly Marian Bethune stops her. The latter, who is leaning against the curtains of the window, breaks into a wild little laugh. "Love--what is love?" cries she. "Oh, foolish Margaret! Do not listen to her, Tessie, do not listen." She folds the soft silken curtains round her slender figure, and, hidden therein, still laughs aloud with a wild passion of mirth. "It is you who are foolish," cries Margaret, with some agitation. "I?" She lets the curtains go; they fall in a sweep behind her. She looks out at Margaret, still laughing. Her face is like ashes. "You speak too strongly," says she. "Do _you_ think I could speak too strongly?" asks Margaret, looking intently at her. It is a questioning glance. "You! Do _you_ think Maurice ought to ask this poor, ignorant girl to marry him? Do _you_ advise him to take this step?" "Why, it appears he must take some step," says Marian. "Why not this?" Margaret goes close to her and speaks in so low a tone that Lady Rylton cannot hear her. "His honour, is that nothing to you?" says she. "To me? What have I got to do with his honour?" says Mrs. Bethune, with a little expressive gesture. "Oh, Marian!" says Miss Knollys. She half turns away as if in disgust, but Marian follows her and catches her sleeve. "You mean----" says she. "Must I explain? With his heart full of you, do you think he should marry this girl?" "Oh, _his_ heart!" says Mrs. Bethune. "Has he a heart? Dear Margaret, don't be an enthusiast; be like everybody else. It is so much more comfortable." "You can put it off like this," says Miss Knollys in a low tone. "It is very simple; but you should think. I have always thought you--you liked Maurice, but you were a--a friend of his. Save him from this. Don't let him marry this child." "I don't think he will marry a child!" says Mrs. Bethune, laughing. "You mean----"