break it."

"Ah, that's just it; that's just the point. Now, Frank, listen to me.
Pray listen to me patiently for one minute. I do not ask much of
you."

Frank promised that he would listen patiently; but he looked anything
but patient as he said so.

"I have seen Mary, as it was certainly my duty to do. You cannot be
angry with me for that."

"Who said that I was angry, mother?"

"Well, I have seen her, and I must own, that though she was not
disposed to be courteous to me, personally, she said much that marked
her excellent good sense. But the gist of it was this; that as she
had made you a promise, nothing should turn her from that promise but
your permission."

"And do you think--"

"Wait a moment, Frank, and listen to me. She confessed that this
marriage was one which would necessarily bring distress on all your
family; that it was one which would probably be ruinous to yourself;
that it was a match which could not be approved of: she did, indeed;
she confessed all that. 'I have nothing', she said--those were her
own words--'I have nothing to say in favour of this engagement,
except that he wishes it.' That is what she thinks of it herself.
'His wishes are not a reason; but a law,' she said--"

"And, mother, would you have me desert such a girl as that?"

"It is not deserting, Frank: it would not be deserting: you would be
doing that which she herself approves of. She feels the impropriety
of going on; but she cannot draw back because of her promise to you.
She thinks that she cannot do it, even though she wishes it."

"Wishes it! Oh, mother!"

"I do believe she does, because she has sense to feel the truth of
all that your friends say. Oh, Frank, I will go on my knees to you if
you will listen to me."

"Oh, mother! mother! mother!"

"You should think twice, Frank, before you refuse the only request
your mother ever made you. And why do I ask you? why do I come to you
thus? Is it for my own sake? Oh, my boy! my darling boy! will you
lose everything in life, because you love the child with whom you
have played as a child?"

"Whose fault is it that we were together as children? She is now more
than a child. I look on her already as my wife."

"But she is not your wife, Frank; and she knows that she ought not to
be. It is only because you hold her to it that she consents to be
so."

"Do you mean to say that she does not love me?"

Lady Arabella would probably have said this, also, had she dare