with considerable eloquence, explained to her friend that that
English title, which was but the clatter of a sounding brass, should
be regarded as a drawback rather than as an advantage. Mrs. Spalding,
who was no poetess, would undoubtedly have welcomed Mr. Glascock as
her niece's husband with all an aunt's energy. When told by Miss
Petrie that old Lord Peterborough was a tinkling cymbal she snapped
angrily at her gifted countrywoman. But she was too honest a woman,
and too conscious also of her niece's strength, to say a word to urge
her on. Mr. Spalding as an American minister, with full powers at the
court of a European sovereign, felt that he had full as much to give
as to receive; but he was well inclined to do both. He would have
been much pleased to talk about his nephew Lord Peterborough, and
he loved his niece dearly. But by the middle of February he was
beginning to think that the matter had been long enough in training.
If the Honourable Glascock meant anything, why did he not speak
out his mind plainly? The American Minister in such matters was
accustomed to fewer ambages than were common in the circles among
which Mr. Glascock had lived.

In the meantime Caroline Spalding was suffering. She had allowed
herself to think that Mr. Glascock intended to propose to her, and
had acknowledged to herself that were he to do so she would certainly
accept him. All that she had seen of him, since the day on which he
had been courteous to her about the seat in the diligence, had been
pleasant to her. She had felt the charm of his manner, his education,
and his gentleness; and had told herself that with all her love for
her own country, she would willingly become an Englishwoman for the
sake of being that man's wife. But nevertheless the warnings of her
great friend, the poetess, had not been thrown away upon her. She
would put away from herself as far as she could any desire to become
Lady Peterborough. There should be no bias in the man's favour on
that score. The tinkling cymbal and the sounding brass should be
nothing to her. But yet,--yet what a chance was there here for her?
"They are dishonest, and rotten at the core," said Miss Petrie,
trying to make her friend understand that a free American should
under no circumstances place trust in an English aristocrat. "Their
country, Carry, is a game played out, while we are still breasting
the hill with our young lungs full of air." Carry Spalding was proud
of her inti