ng. You
would not expect to hear from a pulpit the phrases which belong to a
racecourse, nor would the expressions which are decorous, perhaps, in
aristocratic drawing-rooms befit the humble parlours of clerks and
artisans."

"I never will say that anything is awful again," said Lord Hampstead,
as he gave his arm to Mrs. Roden, and took her in to dinner.

"I hope he will not be angry with father," whispered Marion Fay to
George Roden, as they walked across the hall together.

"Not in the least. Nothing of that kind could anger him. If your
father were to cringe or to flatter him then he would be disgusted."

"Father would never do that," said Marion, with confidence.

The dinner went off very pleasantly, Hampstead and Roden taking
between them the weight of the conversation. The Quaker was perhaps
a little frightened by the asperity of his own first remark, and
ate his good things almost in silence. Marion was quite contented
to listen, as she had told her father was her purpose; but it was
perhaps to the young lord's words that she gave attention rather than
to those of his friends. His voice was pleasant to her ears. There
was a certain graciousness in his words, as to which she did not
suppose that their softness was specially intended for her hearing.
Who does not know the way in which a man may set himself at work to
gain admission into a woman's heart without addressing hardly a word
to herself? And who has not noted the sympathy with which the woman
has unconsciously accepted the homage? That pressing of the hand,
that squeezing of the arm, that glancing of the eyes, which are
common among lovers, are generally the developed consequences of
former indications which have had their full effect, even though they
were hardly understood, and could not have been acknowledged, at
the time. But Marion did, perhaps, feel that there was something of
worship even in the way in which her host looked towards her with
rapid glances from minute to minute, as though to see that if not
with words, at any rate with thoughts, she was taking her share
in the conversation which was certainly intended for her delight.
The Quaker in the mean time ate his dinner very silently. He was
conscious of having shown himself somewhat of a prig about that slang
phrase, and was repenting himself. Mrs. Roden every now and then
would put in a word in answer rather to her son than to the host, but
she was aware of those electric sparks which,