. It may serve to
explain the condition of Lady Carbury's mind at the time if it be
stated that she did not even at this moment suppose that the editor of
the 'Morning Breakfast Table' intended to make her an offer of
marriage. She knew, or thought she knew, that middle-aged men are fond
of prating about love, and getting up sensational scenes. The
falseness of the thing, and the injury which may come of it, did not
shock her at all. Had she known that the editor professed to be in
love with some lady in the next street, she would have been quite
ready to enlist the lady in the next street among her friends that she
might thus strengthen her own influence with Mr Broune. For herself
such make-believe of an improper passion would be inconvenient, and
therefore to be avoided. But that any man, placed as Mr Broune was in
the world,--blessed with power, with a large income, with influence
throughout all the world around him, courted, feted, feared and almost
worshipped,--that he should desire to share her fortunes, her
misfortunes, her struggles, her poverty and her obscurity, was not
within the scope of her imagination. There was a homage in it, of
which she did not believe any man to be capable,--and which to her would
be the more wonderful as being paid to herself. She thought so badly
of men and women generally, and of Mr Broune and herself as a man and
a woman individually, that she was unable to conceive the possibility
of such a sacrifice. 'Mr Broune,' she said, 'I did not think that you
would take advantage of the confidence I have placed in you to annoy
me in this way.'

'To annoy you, Lady Carbury! The phrase at any rate is singular. After
much thought I have determined to ask you to be my wife. That I should
be--annoyed, and more than annoyed by your refusal, is a matter of
course. That I ought to expect such annoyance is perhaps too true. But
you can extricate yourself from the dilemma only too easily.'

The word 'wife' came upon her like a thunder-clap. It at once changed
all her feelings towards him. She did not dream of loving him. She
felt sure that she never could love him. Had it been on the cards with
her to love any man as a lover, it would have been some handsome
spendthrift who would have hung from her neck like a nether millstone.
This man was a friend to be used,--to be used because he knew the world.
And now he gave her this clear testimony that he knew as little of the
world as any other man. Mr