"I have brought you the key to my private entrance. It will admit you to Matilda’s apartments when you wish, without the delays of a formal reception; and ’twill be the greatest token of kindness if you come often." She spoke gently, and was soft and moth-like in all her movements, but her affection for her niece was unmistakable. While she talked, Jane’s eyes wandered over the richly furnished room, noting its draperies of rose velvet, beautifully painted, its carved bedstead and quilted satin coverlet, its dressing-table with little gilded Venetian ewers for perfumes, and India boxes for powders—and also the fine breakfast service of French china before her. Lady Jevery’s "charity" to her niece was certainly magnificent, and Jane felt no anxiety concerning her friend’s material comforts. She returned to her home soon after breakfast, and her mother met her with a smiling face. "I was going to send the coach for you," she said, "for there is to be company to-night;" and then she looked at Jane so intelligently that the girl understood at once what was meant. "Is it Cluny?" she asked, blushing brightly. "Yes. He has asked for an interview with your father, and I suppose that it is granted, for I was told of the matter." "Mother, dear, you will speak in our favour?" "If needs be, Jane. But I am of this opinion—some one has spoken already." "Do you mean the Lord General?" "I wouldn’t wonder if he has said the two or three words that would move your father more than any woman’s talk or tears. Keep your bravery, Jane; father likes women that stand up for themselves. When we were first married, I tried crying for my way, and I never got it. It is a deal better with men like your father and brothers to stand up for your rights. They know what that means, but they think a crying woman is trying to get the better of them." Jane understood this advice, and she was not a girl inclined to cry for her way or her wish, yet she was glad to be thus early warned of the stand she might have to take. After all, it was one so loving and simple, so well defined in her own mind, and so positively accepted, that there was little need for preparation. "I have made a resolve to marry Cluny, if Cluny be of the same mind," she said to herself, "and I have made a resolve to marry no one else, whether Cluny be of the same mind or not. I will let no one impose a husband on me. This thing I will stand boldly for; it has the witness of my heart, and love is too great to need lying or deceit." It was evening when Cluny came, and he was taken at once to the room in which General Swaffham was smoking his good-night pipe. He looked steadily at the young man as he entered, but the look was one of inquiry and observation rather than of displeasure. "Good-evening, sir," he answered to Cluny’s greeting. "Sit down. You have requested speech with me; talk straight out then." "I am here, General, to ask for your daughter’s hand. I love her."