It was some time before Mary spoke again. Ralph wondered if she had any inkling of the real truth. He had perhaps said a little too much, and perhaps, on the other hand, he had not said quite enough. Suppose that Mary jumped to the immediate conclusion that he was the heir. What then? She would ask him the question point blank, and he would be compelled to speak the truth. But Mary's perception was at fault for once. As her eyes sought Ralph's face it was evident that she had not the remotest idea who he was. And this was just as it should be, from Ralph's point of view. For he was doing what the world would call a foolish and Quixotic thing. He loved this girl with his whole heart and soul; he knew that she was the one woman for him. But not yet; until that sinful pride was humbled in the dust there would be no happiness for Mary. Her character would have to be cleansed and purified in the fire of adversity first. Ralph knew quite well what noble qualities lay under that mask of pride and ice. He could have called the girl his; he knew it. He had only to proclaim his identity, and Mary Dashwood would have asked no better fate than to become the wife of the head of the family; she might have given her heart into the bargain. But Ralph would have none of it that way. Mary should come to him and sue for pardon; she should proclaim in all sincerity that love was best of all. She should feel that there was something far better than being mistress of Dashwood Hall. Then the truth might be told and the old order of things re-established. All this Ralph had worked out in his mind as a novelist works out a plot. And Fate had played into his hands. A stern, hard time was coming for Mary, but it would be the making of her in the end. Ralph could see it all in his mind's eye as he stood by Mary's side and looked into her troubled eyes. "I don't understand," she said slowly. "I am afraid that I am not so hard and resolute as I believed myself to be. And things have moved so rapidly lately, that I am dazed. First comes the knowledge that my father is--is----" The girl hesitated and broke down. Ralph completed her sentence for her. It sounded harsh and unkind, but the lesson had to be learned. "Is not the man you took him for," Ralph said. "His family pride is not a durable article. To play his part properly he should have coldly and politely told Mayfield to do his worst, and ordered him out of the house. That is the course one has a right to expect from the head of the house of Dashwood. But, alas, for the weakness of poor human nature! Your father knows Mayfield to be an abandoned scoundrel, and yet he makes a compact with him. A bargain is arranged between them, and you are the price to be paid, Mary. And, upon my word, your pride seems to me to be as hollow a thing as that of your father." "That is false," Mary cried passionately. "I am sacrificing everything for the honour of the house."