his heiress, and I
know that if I were to marry contrary to his wishes, he would instantly
change his mind, and leave me penniless."

"But," I cried, my romance a little dampened by this admission, "you
tell me Mr. Clavering has enough to live upon, so you would not want;
and if you love--"

Her violet eyes fairly flashed in her amazement.

"You don't understand," she said; "Mr. Clavering is not poor; but uncle
is rich. I shall be a queen--" There she paused, trembling, and falling
on my breast. "Oh, it sounds mercenary, I know, but it is the fault of
my bringing up. I have been taught to worship money. I would be utterly
lost without it. And yet"--her whole face softening with the light of
another emotion, "I cannot say to Henry Clavering, 'Go! my prospects are
dearer to me than you!' I cannot, oh, I cannot!"

"You love him, then?" said I, determined to get at the truth of the
matter if possible.

She rose restlessly. "Isn't that a proof of love? If you knew me, you
would say it was." And, turning, she took her stand before a picture
that hung on the wall of my sitting-room.

"That looks like me," she said.

It was one of a pair of good photographs I possessed.

"Yes," I remarked, "that is why I prize it."

She did not seem to hear me; she was absorbed in gazing at the exquisite
face before her. "That is a winning face," I heard her say. "Sweeter
than mine. I wonder if she would ever hesitate between love and money. I
do not believe she would," her own countenance growing gloomy and sad
as she said so; "she would think only of the happiness she would confer;
she is not hard like me. Eleanore herself would love this girl."

I think she had forgotten my presence, for at the mention of her
cousin's name she turned quickly round with a half suspicious look,
saying lightly:

"My dear old Mamma Hubbard looks horrified. She did not know she had
such a very unromantic little wretch for a listener, when she was
telling all those wonderful stories of Love slaying dragons, and living
in caves, and walking over burning ploughshares as if they were tufts of
spring grass?"

"No," I said, taking her with an irresistible impulse of admiring
affection into my arms; "but if I had, it would have made no difference.
I should still have talked about love, and of all it can do to make this
weary workaday world sweet and delightful."

"Would you? Then you do not think me such a wretch?"

What could I say? I thought her the