in truth alone, she
sank back in her seat, and, covering her face with her hands, burst
into bitter tears.

All that doctrine about money was horrible to her; that insolent
pretence, that she had caught at Frank because of his worldly
position, made her all but ferocious; but Lady Arabella had not the
less spoken much that was true. She did think of the position which
the heir of Greshamsbury should hold in the county, and of the fact
that a marriage would mar that position so vitally; she did think of
the old name, and the old Gresham pride; she did think of the squire
and his deep distress: it was true that she had lived among them
long enough to understand these things, and to know that it was not
possible that this marriage should take place without deep family
sorrow.

And then she asked herself whether, in consenting to accept Frank's
hand, she had adequately considered this; and she was forced to
acknowledge that she had not considered it. She had ridiculed Lady
Arabella for saying that Frank was still a boy; but was it not true
that his offer had been made with a boy's energy, rather than a man's
forethought? If so, if she had been wrong to accede to that offer
when made, would she not be doubly wrong to hold him to it now that
she saw their error?

It was doubtless true that Frank himself could not be the first to
draw back. What would people say of him? She could now calmly ask
herself the question that had so angered her when asked by Lady
Arabella. If he could not do it, and if, nevertheless, it behoved
them to break off this match, by whom was it to be done if not
by her? Was not Lady Arabella right throughout, right in her
conclusions, though so foully wrong in her manner of drawing them?

And then she did think for one moment of herself. "You who have
nothing to give in return!" Such had been Lady Arabella's main
accusation against her. Was it in fact true that she had nothing to
give? Her maiden love, her feminine pride, her very life, and spirit,
and being--were these things nothing? Were they to be weighed against
pounds sterling per annum? and, when so weighed, were they ever to
kick the beam like feathers? All these things had been nothing to
her when, without reflection, governed wholly by the impulse of the
moment, she had first allowed his daring hand to lie for an instant
in her own. She had thought nothing of these things when that other
suitor came, richer far than Frank, to love whom it