"Do you mean my cousin?" I asked. "Yes, but I have little hope," he replied, though perhaps he had more hope than he expressed. I had told him of her intention to come to London, hoping that he would leave before her arrival, as he did, though neither he nor I knew when she was coming. So I asked:-- "Don't you know that she will be carried off by some rich lord before you are half good enough for her?" "I suppose so," he answered, with a sigh. "You must know that she is coming for that purpose," I returned, wishing to take all hope out of him. He winced perceptibly and answered after a long pause, nodding his head in the direction of the king: "There is the only man I fear--the king. But rather than see her the victim of any man, by God, I'll kill him, though it cost me my life the next moment!" I was touched by the new light in which I saw him and took his arm in friendliness as I said, "I judged you wrongfully at Sundridge." "You were right," he answered impatiently. "You awakened in me not only a sense of my duty to Frances, but a knowledge of my obligation to myself." "But are you so sure of my cousin, even barring other men?" I asked, hoping to sow the seeds of doubt. "Yes," he answered, with emphasis. "As sure as a man may be in such a case." "Well, George," said I, "it warms my heart to say that I hope you will gain wealth, station, and mode of life worthy of her, and that in the end you may win her. My candid opinion is, however, that you will have to do it quickly. She will accept none of these creatures at court, of that you may be sure, but there are many worthy gentlemen in England who are rich and of great name, who have business at court and will see her and want her. There is Dick Talbot, Duke of Tyrconnel. He is a fine fellow, enormously rich, and--" "A mere lump of meat," interrupted Hamilton, angrily. "She could not love him." "No," I answered. "Nor do I think she will try. But it is better in the long run that a woman respect a man, not loving him, than to love, despising him. Respect is likely to last; all sorts of love may die. But in any case it is Frances's intention to marry a fortune for her father's sake, even though she has to close her eyes in doing it." "I'll try to prevent that misfortune," he answered gloomily. "But if she learns to love a man worthy of her, I shall take myself out of her way forever. Let us stand together, Baron Ned, and help this girl to happiness for life, without respect to myself. You see I'm not all bad. In truth, I am becoming self-righteous. I have left the ranks of the publicans and sinners and have become a Pharisee. I tell you, Baron Ned, nothing so swells a man in the chest as the belief that he is not as other men are." His righteousness, at least, was not devoid of bitterness, and it is possible that a part of his aversion to his former friends and to the king grew out of his jealousy of them for Frances's sake.