"Indeed, mamma, I hope so. I would not for worlds stoop to commit a mean action, or indulge a mean thought. My very greatest ambition is to act like a lady, and, by so doing, meet every one's respect." "That is all very well, Bell, but that is not exactly my meaning. To be respectable, you must soar. It is vain to content one's-self with grovelling just above the heads of the canaille. The proper ambition is to grasp at high things, and possess them." "I have no wish for high things, mamma." "Because your nature is common-place, Bell, because your mind is low set. However you may pique yourself upon your accomplished education, that very education has crippled my hopes, and your own prospects. You will live and die, satisfied with mediocrity." "But, mamma, what do you mean, and what am I to do to give you satisfaction? I cannot understand you." "I will explain myself, Bell. Are you a girl of such a mean spirit, as to accept a baronet, when a duke's son enters the list of suitors? Answer me--are you so mean-spirited, so mediocre in your wishes, as to content yourself with a man who cannot raise you above your fellows?" "Certainly not, mamma, if I did not love him." "Love him! Could you love a man--would you dare to plead attachment to a man, as an excuse for lowering yourself in marriage below your sisters' fortunes? Would _you_ meanly creep, while _their_ flight has carried them to this world's pinnacle? I hope, I trust, you would not do so, Bell!" "Whom can you allude to?" exclaimed Christobelle, distressed beyond measure at her mother's words; "tell me at once, I beseech you, what you mean. Do not speak to me in parables." Lady Wetheral became extremely agitated. She walked to the window, threw open the sash, and closed it again, as she spoke. "I have said enough to waken your understanding. Any one might comprehend my meaning--any one would know I detested the idea of your marrying Sir John Spottiswoode." Christobelle looked up in her mother's face with astonishment. She continued with increased nervousness. "You cannot deceive _me_, Bell. You cannot deny your predilection for that man, which will at once decide the intentions, and end all hopes of Lord Farnborough. You are determined to pursue your will, and I will act upon my own resolution. The very hour in which you accept Sir John Spottiswoode, shall be the last of your residence with me." "Good heavens, mamma, I have not a thought of Sir John Spottiswoode, or Sir John Spottiswoode of me! What can have caused such a supposition in your mind?" "You do not care for him--you _will_ not care for him--is that your meaning, Bell?" "I do not care for any one, half so much as for my own papa, and I hope I shall always prefer him," she exclaimed, energetically.