th a family--a condition that would be death to his career. Ask any
one you choose, and they will tell you that there cannot be two
opinions about this. Besides, through my help he has been able to
live like a man of fortune. His allowance, however, will be stopped
on the day of his marriage, if he persists in such a course. If he
abandons it, he will find himself with the principal as well as the
interest at his disposal. So situated, he has every chance to rise.
Under the other conditions, he inevitably falls. What would become of
him ultimately is too dreary a line of conjecture to dwell upon."

Bettina's face was paler still. The tears sprang to her eyes--tears
of mortification and keen regret. The thought of her mother pierced
through her, and the consciousness that she had no longer the refuge
of that gentle heart to cast herself upon almost overcame her. Pride
lent her aid, however, and she rallied quickly.

"You have fully demonstrated to me," she said, "that I have injured
your cousin in promising to marry him. I did it in ignorance,
however. With the facts before me which you have just given, I should
perhaps have acted differently. Regret now, however, is useless."

"On the contrary, this is one of the rare cases in which regret is
not useless. The reparation of your mistake is in your own hands."

The possibility of doing what he urged flashed through Bettina's
mind. Horace would certainly be infinitely better off without her, in
every rational and material sense; and at this stage of Bettina's
development the rational and material were predominant. But what of
her, apart from Horace? This thought found vent in words.

"You have been looking at this subject from your own point of view,"
she said, "and perhaps naturally. I must, however, think of an aspect
of the case in which you have no interest. I am absolutely alone in
the world, and if, for your cousin's sake, I made this sacrifice--"

In spite of herself her voice faltered.

Lord Hurdly drew his chair a little nearer to her. His eyes were
fixed upon her with a yet more intent gaze as he said, with
directness and decision:

"You are quite mistaken. It is this aspect of the case which concerns
me chiefly. If, as is undoubtedly true, the prevention of this most
mistaken marriage would be an advantage to Horace, to you it may be a
far greater gain, and to me it may be the fulfilment of all that I
have ever desired in life."

"What do you mean?" sh