ew she had no mother:

"And why? What reason can there be for such rosy lips saying their
possessor will never marry?"

She gave me one quick look, and then dropped her eyes. I feared I had
offended her, and was feeling very humble, when she suddenly replied, in
an even but low tone, "I said I should never marry, because the one man
who pleases me can never be my husband."

All the hidden romance in my nature started at once into life. "Why not?
What do you mean? Tell me."

"There is nothing to tell," said she; "only I have been so weak as
to"--she would not say, fall in love, she was a proud woman--"admire a
man whom my uncle will never allow me to marry."

And she rose as if to go; but I drew her back. "Whom your uncle will not
allow you to marry!" I repeated. "Why? because he is poor?"

"No; uncle loves money, but not to such an extent as that. Besides, Mr.
Clavering is not poor. He is the owner of a beautiful place in his own
country----"

"Own country?" I interrupted. "Is he not an American?"

"No," she returned; "he is an Englishman."

I did not see why she need say that in just the way she did, but,
supposing she was aggravated by some secret memory, went on to inquire:
"Then what difficulty can there be? Isn't he--" I was going to say
steady, but refrained.

"He is an Englishman," she emphasized in the same bitter tone as
before. "In saying that, I say it all. Uncle will never let me marry an
Englishman."

I looked at her in amazement. Such a puerile reason as this had never
entered my mind.

"He has an absolute mania on the subject," resumed she. "I might as well
ask him to allow me to drown myself as to marry an Englishman."

A woman of truer judgment than myself would have said: "Then, if that is
so, why not discard from your breast all thought of him? Why dance with
him, and talk to him, and let your admiration develop into love?" But
I was all romance then, and, angry at a prejudice I could neither
understand nor appreciate, I said:

"But that is mere tyranny! Why should he hate the English so? And why,
if he does, should you feel yourself obliged to gratify him in a whim so
unreasonable?"

"Why? Shall I tell you, auntie?" she said, flushing and looking away.

"Yes," I returned; "tell me everything."

"Well, then, if you want to know the worst of me, as you already know
the best, I hate to incur my uncle's displeasure, because--because--I
have always been brought up to regard myself as