lord was in love with her. Alas! alas! her son's question fell upon the poor woman at the present moment with the weight of a terrible blow.
"Is there any thing about her which makes her unfit to be my wife?"
Those were her son's last words.
"Dearest Ludovic, dearest Ludovic," and she got up and came over to him, "I do think so; I do, indeed."
"Think what?" said he, in a tone that was almost angry.
"I do think she is unfit to be your wife. She is not of that class from which I would wish to see you choose."
"She is of the same class as Griselda Grantly."
"No, dearest, I think you are in error there. The Grantlys have moved in a different sphere of life. I think you must feel that they are—"
"Upon my word, mother, I don't. One man is Rector of Plumstead, and the other is Vicar of Framley. But it is no good arguing that. I want you to take to Lucy Robarts. I have come to you on purpose to ask it of you as a favor."
"Do you mean as your wife, Ludovic?"
"Yes, as my wife."
"Am I to understand that you are—are engaged to her?"
"Well, I can not say that I am—not actually engaged to her. But you may take this for granted, that, as far as it lies in my power, I intend to become so. My mind is made up, and I certainly shall not alter it."
"And the young lady knows all this?"
"Certainly."
"Horrid, sly, detestable, underhand girl," Lady Lufton said to herself, not being by any means brave enough to speak out such language before her son. What hope could there be if Lord Lufton had already committed himself by a positive offer? "And her brother, and Mrs. Robarts—are they aware of it?"
"Yes, both of them."
"And both approve of it?"
"Well, I can not say that. I have not seen Mrs. Robarts, and do not know what may be her opinion. To speak my mind honestly about Mark, I do not think he does cordially approve. He is afraid of you, and would be desirous of knowing what you think."
"I am glad, at any rate, to hear that," said Lady Lufton,
