“Don’t meddle with me, Ludovic! I have never been meddled with. You need not think I will do anything wrong.” “I must act according to my judgment, Margaret. You are too young to know what you are doing. I must save you from this adventurer. You do not even care about him. I know how a girl looks when she is in love: not as you do, Margaret, thank God for it; and that is the one thing of any importance. I must interfere.” “I do not want to be disobedient,” she said; “but, Ludovic, you know there must be some things that are my own. You cannot judge for me always, nor Jean either. And whatever you may say about this, I will not do it; anything else! but about this I will not do it. It is very, very difficult to say so, when you are so kind; but I cannot, and do not bid me, Ludovic; oh, do not bid me, for I will not!” she said. “But if I tell you you must!” He was entirely out of patience. What fantastic piece of folly was this that had made her set herself against him like a rock? He was beyond his own control with impatience and irritation. “I hope you will not drive me to say something I will be sorry for,” he said. “_You_, Margaret, who have always been a good girl, and you don’t even care for this young man!” “_He_ cares,” said Margaret, under her breath. “Is that why you resist me?” cried her brother. “_He_ cares! yes, for your money, you foolish girl--for what you have got; because he will be able to live and think himself a gentleman!” “Ludovic!” she cried, her face growing crimson; “but you are only angry; you don’t mean to be so unkind.” And then he stopped short, touched, in the midst of his anger, by the simplicity of her confidence. “Do you mean to tell me--that you are really going to marry--Rob Glen, Margaret?” “Oh! but not for such a long, long time!” she said. What was he to say to her--a girl so simple, so almost childish, so unyielding? If Mary had only done it herself! probably she would have had some means of insight into this strange, subtle girl’s mechanism which was out of his way. What was reason, argument, common-sense, to a creature like this, who refused to abandon her lover, and yet drew a long breath of relief at the thought that it must be “a long, long time” before he could claim her? Sir Ludovic was at his wit’s end. They had been walking up and down in front of the house, where, out of reach of all the windows, their conversation was quite safe. The grassy path was damp, but it was noiseless, affording no interruption to their talk. On the ruined gable the tall wall-flowers were nodding, and the ivy threw a little shower of rain-drops over them whenever the wind blew. Looking up at that ruined gable reminded him of all his own cares, so much more important than this love nonsense. Should he ever be able to rebuild it? But in the mean time he must not think of this question at all, but address himself to the still more difficult subject of Rob Glen.