“What disgrace? When your sister becomes Mrs. Ned, what will be the difference between her position and mine? Dont look aghast. What will be the difference?” “Surely you do not suppose that she will dispense with the sacrament of marriage before casting in her lot with your brother!” “I bet you my next week’s salary that you dont get Ned to enter a church. He will be tied up by a registrar. Of course, your sister will have the law of him somehow: she cant help herself. She is not independent; and so she must be guaranteed against his leaving her without bread and butter. _I_ can support myself, and may shew Bob a clean pair of heels to-morrow, if I choose. Even if she has money of her own, she darent stick to her freedom for fear of society. _I_ snap my fingers at society, and care as little about it as it cares about me; and I have no doubt she would be glad to do the same if she had the pluck. I confess I shouldnt like to make a regular legal bargain of going to live with a man. I dont care to make love a matter of money; it gives it a taste of the harem, or even worse. Poor Bob, meaning to be honorable, offered to buy me in the regular way at St. George’s, Hanover Square, before we came to live here; but, of course, I refused, as any decent woman in my circumstances would. Understand me now, Doctor: I dont want to give myself any virtuous airs, or to boast of behaving better than your sister. I know the world; and I know that she will marry Ned just as much because she thinks it right as because she cant help herself. But dont you try to make me swallow any gammon about my disgracing you and so forth. I intend to stay as I am. I can respect myself; and I dont care whether you or your family respect me or not. If you dont approve of me, why! nobody asks you to associate with me. If you want society, you have your own lot to mix with. If I want it, I can fill this house to-morrow. Not with stupid fine ladies, but with really clever people, who are not at all shy of me. Look at me at the present moment! I am receiving a morning visit from the best born and most popular parson in Belgravia. I wonder, Doctor, what your parishioners would think if they could see you now.” “I must confess that I do not understand you at all. You seem to see everything reversed—upside down. You—I—you bewilder me, Miss Conol—” “Sh! Mademoiselle Lalage Virtue, if you please. Or you may call me Susanna, if you like, since we are as good as related.” “I fear,” said the clergyman, blushing, “that we have no common ground on which to argue. I am sorry I have no power to influence you.” “Oh, dont say that. I really like you, Doctor, and would do more for you than most people. If your father had had the cheek to come himself to offer me money, and so forth, I would have put him out of the house double quick; whereas I have listened to you like a lamb. Never mind your hat yet. Have a bottle of champagne with me?” “Thank you, no.” “Dont you drink at all?” “No.”