lifting of the eyes in wonder there is a jar which by and by must make the whole emotion restless. An unconquerable curiosity lay at the very root of their lives. She thought him English and self-sufficient; he thought her foreign and a little superstitious. This ineffable criticism was constant, fretful, and ever nearing the climax of uttered reproach. Sara had inherited all the amazement, but she owned, as well, its comprehension. She adored passionately the mother she had never seen; she loved her father, whom she knew by heart. After exchanging an affectionate glance with his lordship, she began to draw on her gloves. Whilst buttoning one she said-- "Have you seen him?" "No," he replied; "but, in any case, I think he would have avoided me to-day." "Why?" "From motives of delicacy. Henry Marshire is a man of the nicest feeling. He is never guilty of the least mistake." Sara smiled, and so disguised a blush. "I did not mean Marshire," she said. "I was thinking then of Robert Orange." "Robert Orange," exclaimed Lord Garrow in astonishment. "Yes, dear papa. Is he not sometimes at the Carlton with Lord Wight? He seems to me a coming man; and so good-looking. We must really ask him to dinner." Some minutes elapsed before the Earl could utter any comment on a suggestion so surprising, and at that particular moment so inconsequent. Was his daughter not weighing--with prayer, he hoped, and certainly with all her senses--the prospect of an alliance with the Duke of Marshire? How, then, could she pause in a meditation of such vital interest to make capricious remarks about a mere acquaintance? "Does Marshire know him?" he asked at last. "I hope so. He is a remarkable person. But the party is blind." "My dear, the English are an aristocratic people. They do not forgive mysterious blood and ungentle origins. While we have our Howards, our Talbots, and our Poulets--to say nothing of the De Courcys and Cliftons--it would surely seem excessively absurd to endure the intrusion of French _émigrés_ into our midst." "How I hate the great world!" exclaimed Sara, with vehemence; "how I dislike the class which ambition, wealth, and pride separate from the rest of humanity! My only happiness now is found in solitude." "Your mother, dear Sara, had--or fancied so--this same desire to shun companionship and be alone. Her delicate health after our marriage made her fear society." "There are days when it seems an arena of wild beasts!" "Nevertheless, my darling, at your age you must learn to live among your fellow creatures." "How can I live where I should be afraid to die?" "Ought you to give way to these moods? Is it not mistaking the imagination for the soul? Young people do this, and you are very young--but two-and-twenty."