“I do not feel it such, madam,” said Kate, calmly. “Nor is it in a moment of humiliation like this that a thought of triumph can enter.” “Hear me,--stoop down lower. You can leave this--tomorrow, if you wish it.” Kate bowed slowly in acquiescence. “I have no need to ask you that what has occurred here should never be mentioned.” “You may trust me, madam.” “I feel that I may. There--I am better--quite well, now! You may leave me.” Kate courtesied deeply, and moved towards the door. “One word before you go. Will you answer me one question? I'll ask but one; but your answer must be full, or not at all.” “So it shall be, madam. What is it?” “I want to know the reason--on what grounds--you declined the proposal of my son?” “For the same good reason, madam, that should have prevented his ever making it.” “Disparity--inequality of station, you mean?” “Something like it, madam. Our union would have been both a blunder and a paradox. Each would have married beneath him!” And once more courtesying, and with an air of haughty dignity, Kate withdrew, and left her Ladyship to her own thoughts. Strange and conflicting were the same thoughts; at one moment stimulating her to projects of passionate vengeance, at the next suggesting the warmest measures of reconciliation and affection. These indeed predominated, for in her heart pride seemed the emblem of all that was great, noble, or exalted; and when she saw that sentiment, not fostered by the accidents of fortune, not associated with birth, lineage, and high station, but actually rising superior to the absence of all these, she almost felt a species of worship for one so gloriously endowed. “She might be a duchess!” was the only speech she uttered, and the words revealed a whole volume of her meditations. It was curious enough how completely all recollection of her son was merged and lost in the greater interest Kate's character supplied. But so is it frequently in life. The traits which most resemble our own are those we alone attach importance to, and what we fancy admiration of another is very often nothing more than the gratified contemplation of ourselves. CHAPTER XXIII. MAURICE SCANLAN ADVISES WITH “HIS COUNSEL”