strengthened nor weakened by her money. I believe that it is hers.
Nay,--I know that the law will give it to her. On her behalf, as
being betrothed to her, I defy Lord Lovel and all other claimants.
But her money and her hand are two things apart, and I will never be
governed as to the one by any regard as to the other. Perhaps, Mr.
Flick, I have said enough,--and so, good morning." Then he went away.

The lawyer had never dared to suggest the compromise which had been
his object in sending for the man. He had not dared to ask the tailor
how much ready money he would take down to abandon the lady, and thus
to relieve them all from that difficulty. No doubt he exercised a
wise discretion, as had he done so, Daniel Thwaite might have become
even more uncivil than before.

CHAPTER XXII.

THERE IS A GULF FIXED.

"Do you think that you could be happier as the wife of such a one as
Daniel Thwaite, a creature infinitely beneath you, separated as you
would be from all your kith and kin, from all whose blood you share,
from me and from your family, than you would be as the bearer of a
proud name, the daughter and the wife of an Earl Lovel,--the mother
of the earl to come? I will not speak now of duty, or of fitness, or
of the happiness of others which must depend upon you. It is natural
that a girl should look to her own joys in marriage. Do you think
that your joy can consist in calling that man your husband?"

It was thus that the Countess spoke to her daughter, who was then
lying worn out and ill on her bed in Keppel Street. For three days
she had been subject to such addresses as this, and during those
three days no word of tenderness had been spoken to her. The Countess
had been obdurate in her hardness,--still believing that she might
thus break her daughter's spirit, and force her to abandon her
engagement. But as yet she had not succeeded. The girl had been
meek and, in all other things, submissive. She had not defended her
conduct. She had not attempted to say that she had done well in
promising to be the tailor's bride. She had shown herself willing by
her silence to have her engagement regarded as a great calamity, as a
dreadful evil that had come upon the whole Lovel family. She had not
boldness to speak to her mother as she had spoken on the subject to
the Earl. She threw herself entirely upon her promise, and spoke of
her coming destiny as though it had been made irrevocable by her own
word. "I have p