calmly but displeasedly, with a stately Junonic
kind of anger that was really very grand.

"Let it pass," said Laurence. "I forgot
your susceptibilities on that point. However,
here we are in evil case enough, and now what is
to be done? A marriage, you say. Well! a
marriage. Who shall it be?"

"I  decline speaking with you, Laurence,
while you adopt this mocking tone. If you mean
a serious discussion, good; but I am in no
humour for persiflage," said Mrs. Grantley, sternly.

" Fie! What does Shakespeare say of
suspicion and a guilty mind? Or who is it—- Pope,
Thomson's Seasons, or Mrs. Hemans?"

"We will end the conversation, if you please,"
said Mrs. Grantley, rising in her turn. " You are
impertinent, and you know I never submit to
impertinence. When you choose to discuss the
question with propriety, I shall be happy to
resume the subject."

"Well, I will be serious," said Laurence, in
a slightly less bantering tone. "Be just;
or, if that is too high a flight for your ethical
wings, be good-natured. This marriage is
for your good as well as mine; yet I am to
be the only victim. Grant me at least the
luxury of kicking while you harness me. Now
let us go fairly through the available list. Miss
Sefton?" He laughed, but it was not quite a
natural laugh, aud, strangely enough, he, whose
general look was fixed and steady, now kept his
eyes bent down, intent on the condition of his
nails. " She has money, I believe," he added,
in a jeering kind of way. " Fifty pounds a year,
if a penny."

"Jane Storey has more than that," said Mrs.
Grantley, quietly.

"Jane Storey cannot speak English, and
yesterday called me 'sir.' No, mother, not Jane
Storey —- no."

" I own she is not very accurate in the use
of verbs and pronouns, and it would not be
pleasant to have a person at the head of the
Grantley table saying, ' Sir, will you take any of
this beautiful leg of mutton?' Otherwise, she is
not bad. She has decent teeth and tolerable
hair, an quite a Cinderella foot. But I do
not press her, Laurence. Gold leaf should be
thick that covers dross, and Jane Storey's is
not quite deep enough to hide the base metal
underneath. There is Miss Ainsworth—- what
of her?"

"With red hair, and a hand like a butcher's
fist."

"Golden hair. Twenty thousand pounds never
has red hair. She will not do? Ah! you are
fastidious. What then of Emma Laurie —- sinking
the parentage?"

"A tallow-chandler's daughter, and not much
unlike her father's advertising mould. I always
thought you somewhat choice and aristocratic
in your ideas; but it seems as if the want of
money had brought the want of other things
too in its train. Yet, if you cannot be
prudent, at least sin like a gentlewoman. Let us
be true to our class, if not honest to our tradespeople."

"You are right: I have stooped too low.
Birth is, of course, one of the necessities as
well as money, and we must have both united,"
said Mrs. Grantley, with dangerous suavity.
"Let me see—- you do not like the Storey, nor
the Ainsworth, nor yet the Laurie? what,
then, do you say of Annie Sibson? Here you
have everything, Laurence; family, fortune,
education; nothing missing from the list."
And Mrs. Grantley looked at her son with a
hard, fixed gaze, which, as he well knew, meant
everything possible to human will.

"Annie Sibson! A poker in petticoats, a fish,
a mere nonentity, without grace, intelligence,
or beauty; and forty years old at the least!"

"My dear boy, if you are looking for a gilded
"Venus, I am afraid you will go wifeless for
ever. Annie Sibson was only twenty-nine last
November and is a very charming young
woman——-"

"She is a horror, mother; the worst of the
lot. What on earth could have put her into
your head?"

"Necessity, Laurence, and fate. Annie Sibson
has fifty thousand pounds; she loves you,
and you will marry her. You know this as well
as I do."

"Loves me! She love! As cod-fish do. She
is not unlike a cod-fish, herself watery blue
eyes, leaden skin, gaping mouth, and lint-white
hair. She would make no end of a caricature."

"Laugh as you like, Laurence, Annie Sibson
is your fate. Yet, perhaps, you had better
take it as you do, with a jest and a smile: you
might take it worse," observed Mrs. Grantley,
sententiously.

"Or not at all," said Laurence, turning
pale, as he always did when angry. " I am
not forced to marry the girl, I suppose? Do
you really believe that I have no free-will left,
no self-assertion, at thirty-two years old? If
you do, you will find yourself mistaken."

"You are absurd and childish; and show the
weakness of your arguments by their violence.
Do I force you to marry? Or indeed do I care
about your marriage in any way, for myself?"

"Has your jointure nothing to do with it?"
said Laurence. " Are there no awkward items
there to wash out with a golden sponge? You
are self-denying, mother, I know; always were;
but not quite to the point of planning a rich
marriage for your son that shall not be
advantageous to yourself as well."

"Have it as you will. Only remember what
Warner said in his letter to-day; the mortgage
suddenly called in, and another mortgage for the
same amount not to be had; that heavy bill of
Lyon's to be met this day week; Marshall's
acceptances falling due; the embarrassment, nay,
Laurence, the ruin that is threatening you unless
promptly bought off. What have I to do with
all this, you say? Simply to remind you that
Annie Sibson has fifty thousand pounds; that
she loves you; and that the game is in your own
hands. Annie Sibson will be at the ball
tonight: and Warner's letter must be answered
to-morrow."