“It will not last. I give you my experience that it will not last. I will inquire about young Ward. He has no family or connections to speak of. There could be no objections to that match, if he really fancies you, I should suppose. Come, come, cheer up; the other is out of the question, you know; but if young Ward comes forward, I should not in the least mind giving you a wedding outfit, and a neat little sum of money. Take these things into consideration, like a good girl. This fancy for my son will soon exhaust itself.” Anna stood up firmly now, and drew the shawl, that had partly fallen off, about her person with a proud grace that astonished the woman who had wounded her so. “Lady, be content; I will not, if possible, see your son again; but to speak of another, especially that man, is worse than cruel, it is insulting.” The red flush of a haughty spirit, ashamed of itself, swept over the lady’s face. “I did not mean to wound or insult you,” she said. “No, lady; you only forgot that a poor girl who works hard for her living may have a little pride, and some shadow of delicacy.” “Indeed, I do not forget any thing of the kind; but I am anxious to save my son from a step that I honestly believe he would repent of, and have frankly asked you to help me. Another woman would have taken different and harsher means; I stoop to entreat, implore you to give him up.” “Lady, I have—I do.” “This fact about young Ward will, if you manage it wisely, be a great assistance. My son is proud and peculiarly sensitive. If he supposed that you encouraged this young man, it would go far to cure him of his folly.” “What do you mean, lady?” “This. He now thinks, doubtless, that you have encouraged young Ward to come under the same roof with you. He has already seen him with you in the street. Do not undeceive him—that will be his cure.” “But what will he, what can he think of me?” “No matter what he thinks. You will never meet again; and if you should, all this foolish passion will have been swept away on both sides. Then you can inform him with safety.” “Lady, do not ask me to act in this way. I can give up his love, but not his respect.” “Not for a time? If it will restore him to himself—to the parents who love him better than themselves?” “I could not force myself to do that, madam.” “But he may return to you.” Anna’s eyes sparkled through the tears that hung on those curling lashes. Mrs. Savage saw the look, and her own eyes flashed angrily. “You wish it. I see you wish it,” she said. “If I do, it is because even a new pain would be something like a relief to the dull ache here,” answered the young girl, laying a hand on her heart. “You have my promise, lady, not to see your son again, if I can help it. After that, any conditions you may make are of little importance. You are right; it does not matter what he thinks of me. Do with me as you will, I cannot be more wretched than I am.”