ften thought, "How could
I aspire to such a creature, and ask her to forgo a palace to share the
crust of a poor painter?"

Ethel. You spoke quite scornfully of palaces just now, Clive. I won't
say a word about the--the regard which you express for me. I think you
have it. Indeed, I do. But it were best not said, Clive; best for me,
perhaps, not to own that I know it. In your speeches, my poor boy--and
you will please not to make any more, or I never can see you or speak to
you again, never--you forgot one part of a girl's duty: obedience to her
parents. They would never agree to my marrying any one below--any one
whose union would not be advantageous in a worldly point of view. I
never would give such pain to the poor father, or to the kind soul who
never said a harsh word to me since I was born. My grandmamma is kind,
too, in her way. I came to her of my own free will. When she said she
would leave me her fortune, do you think it was for myself alone that I
was glad? My father's passion was to make an estate, and all my brothers
and sisters will be but slenderly portioned. Lady Kew said she would
help them if I came to her--and--it is the welfare of those little
people that depends upon me, Clive. Now, do you see, brother, why you
must speak to me so no more? There is the carriage. God bless you, dear
Clive.

(Clive sees the carriage drive away after Miss Newcome has entered it
without once looking up to the window where he stands. When it is gone
he goes to the opposite windows of the salon, which are open, towards
the garden. The chapel music begins to play from the Convent, next door.
As he hears it he sinks down, his head in his hands.)

Enter Madame de Florac (She goes to him with anxious looks.). What hast
thou, my child? Hast thou spoken?

Clive (very steadily). Yes.

Madame de F. And she loves thee? I know she loves thee.

Clive. You hear the organ of the convent?

Madame de F. Qu'as tu?

Clive. I might as well hope to marry one of the sisters of yonder
convent, dear lady. (He sinks down again, and she kisses him.)

Clive. I never had a mother; but you seem like one.

Madame de F. Mon fils! Oh, mon fils!

CHAPTER XLVIII. In which Benedick is a Married Man

We have all heard of the dying French Duchess, who viewed her coming
dissolution and subsequent fate so easily, because she said she was sure
that Heaven must deal politely with a person of her quality;--I
suppose Lady Kew had some suc