mother's cruel words smote her with a pain like that of a sharp sword.
She was silent until the first smart of that pain was over, then she
said, gently:

"Why do you say anything so cruel?--why do you hate me?"

"Hate you?" replied my lady, "how can you be so mistaken? It is not you
I hate, but your class--the class to which you belong--although the word
hate is much too strong. I simply hold them in sovereign contempt."

"I cannot help my class," she said, briefly.

"Certainly not; but it is my place to see that my son takes no wife from
it. To you, yourself, I can have no dislike; personally I rather like
you; you have a pleasant face, and I should take you to be clever. But
you have not even one of the qualifications needful--absolutely
necessary for the lady whom my son calls wife."

"Yet he chose me," she said, simply.

"You have a nice face, and my son has fancied it," said the countess
contemptuously. "You ought to be grateful to me for separating you from
my son now. I am doing for him the kindest thing that any one could do.
I know Lord Chandos better than any one else, and I know that he tires
of everything in a short time. He would have wearied of you by
Christmas, and would have loathed the chains he had forged for himself.
When he was a child he tired of a new toy in half an hour--his
disposition has not changed."

"I cannot believe it," cried Leone. "I will not believe it, great lady
as you are. You are wicked to malign your own son."

"I do not malign him," said the countess, indifferently. "Many gentlemen
think it quite complimentary to be called changeable. My son has always
been known as one of the most variable of men; nothing pleases him long;
it is seldom that anything pleases him twice. You think he will always
love you; let me ask you why? You have a pretty face, granted; but there
is nothing under the sun of which a man tires sooner. You have nothing
else; you have no education, no accomplishments, no good birth; I should
say no good breeding, no position, rank, or influence. If I may speak my
mind plainly, I should say that it was a most impertinent presumption
for you, a farmer's niece, even to dream of being Lady Chandos--a
presumption that should be punished, and must be checked. You would,
without doubt, make an excellent dairy-maid, even a tolerable
housekeeper, but a countess never. The bare idea is intolerable."

She grew more angry as she spoke; for the girl's grace and beauty