her future passed through her
brain, little Lord Algy quivered meekly under her kiss, and returned it
with all the enthusiasm of which he was capable. One or two faint
misgivings troubled him as to whether he had not been just a little too
hasty in making a serious _bona fide_ offer of marriage to the young
lady by whose Pilgrim progenitors he was not deceived. He knew well
enough what her antecedents were, and a faint shudder crossed him as he
thought of the pork-dealing uncle, who would, by marriage, become _his_
uncle also. He had long been proud of the fact that the house of
Masherville had never, through the course of centuries, been associated,
even in the remotest manner with trade--and now!--

"Yet, after all," he mused, "the Marquis of Londonderry openly
advertises himself as a coal-merchant, and the brothers-in-law of the
Princess Louise are in the wine trade and stock-broking business,--and
all the old knightly blood of England is mingling itself by choice with
that of the lowest commoners--what's the use of my remaining aloof, and
refusing to go with the spirit of the age? Besides, Marcia loves me, and
it's pleasant to be loved!"

Poor Lord Algy. He certainly thought there could be no question about
Marcia's affection for him. He little dreamed that it was to his title
and position she had become so deeply attached,--he could not guess that
after he had married her there would be no more Lord Masherville worth
mentioning--that that individual, once independent, would be entirely
swallowed up and lost in the dashing personality of Lady Masherville,
who would rule her husband as with a rod of iron.

He was happily ignorant of his future, and he walked in the gardens for
some time with his arm round Marcia's waist, in a very placid and
romantic frame of mind. By-and-by he escorted her into the house, where
the dancing was in full swing--and she, with a sweet smile, bidding him
wait for her in the refreshment-room, sought for and found her mother,
who as usual, was seated in a quiet corner with Mrs. Rush-Marvelle,
talking scandal.

"Well?" exclaimed these two ladies, simultaneously and breathlessly.

Marcia's eyes twinkled. "Guess he came in as gently as a lamb!" she
said.

They understood her. Mrs. Rush-Marvelle rose from her chair in her usual
stately and expensive manner.

"I congratulate you, my dear!" kissing Marcia affectionately on both
cheeks. "Bruce Errington would have been a better match,--bu