oman must, indeed, be a fool who
cannot protect herself."

And so the interview ended.

Next day Lady Bellamy called again.

"My dear child," she said to Angela, "you are not looking well; this
business worries you, no doubt; it is the old struggle between duty
and inclination, that we have most of us gone through. Well, there is
one consolation, nobody who ever did his or her duty, regardless of
inclination, ever regretted it in the end."

"What do you mean, Lady Bellamy, when you talk about my duty?"

"I mean the plain duty that lies before you of marrying your cousin
George, and of throwing up this young Heigham."

"I recognize no such duty."

"My dear Angela, do look at the matter from a sensible point of view,
think what a good thing it would be for your father, and remember,
too, that it would re-unite all the property. If ever a girl had a
clear duty to perform, you have."

"Since you insist so much upon my 'duty,' I must say that it seems to
me that an honest girl in my position has three duties to consider,
and not one, as you say, Lady Bellamy. First, there is her duty to the
man she loves, for her the greatest duty of any in the world; next her
duty to herself, for her happiness and self-respect are involved in
her decision; and, lastly, her duty to her family. I put the family
last, because, after all, it is she who gets married, not her family."

Lady Bellamy smiled a little.

"You argue well; but there is one thing that you overlook, though I am
sorry to have to pain you by saying it; young Mr. Heigham is no better
than he should be. I have made inquiries about him, and think that I
ought to tell you that."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that his life, young as he is, has not been so creditable as
it might have been. He has been the hero of one or two little affairs.
I can tell you about them if you like."

"Lady Bellamy, your stories are either true or untrue. If true, I
should take no notice of them, because they must have happened before
he loved me; if untrue, they would be a mere waste of breath, so I
think that we may dispense with the stories--they would influence me
no more than the hum of next summer's gnats."

Lady Bellamy smiled again.

"You are a curious woman," she said; "but, supposing that there were
to be a repetition of these little stories _after_ he loved you, what
would you say then?"

Angela looked troubled, and thought awhile.

"He could never go far from me," sh