There was a bitterness in Mary's manner and speech, occasioned by the discovery of the afternoon; for while her father spoke she could not help comparing the two young men, with very great loss to the subject of their present conversation.

All at once to Mary's memory arose the teachings of her dear grandfather. "I have no right to despise this young captain," she said to herself; "it is not his fault that he is so inferior to others in intellect;" and she was just about to speak kindly of his temper and disposition, when her father said, in a tone that startled her--

"You will have to be more than civil to Captain Fraser to-morrow, Mary, for he has asked me for the hand of my daughter, and I expect you to accept him."

"Father! What do you mean?"

The tone of voice, the calm yet determined utterance, startled Mr.

Armstrong, yet he said firmly--

"I mean what I say, Mary. Here is a man connected with some of the highest of England's aristocracy, and in addition to personal advantages he possesses a n.o.ble estate and a rent-roll of 12,000_l._ a year. He comes forward honourably, and offers to marry my daughter, and make her mistress of all these honours and possessions, and she asks me what I mean!"

Mary did not reply, but with a will unbending as her father's she resolved that nothing should induce her to marry Reginald Fraser.

"Why do you not speak, Mary?" said her father at last, in a tone of voice that Mrs. Armstrong knew betokened an outburst of pa.s.sion.

"Do not oblige Mary to decide to-night, Edward," said the gentle voice of his wife; "give her a few hours to think over the advantages of such a marriage, and----"

"No, mamma," interrupted Mary; and while she spoke her face was pale and her lips white, but her voice was clear and firm, "I do not require even a few minutes to decide. I have been a.s.sociated with Captain Fraser daily for a month, and I could not marry him if he were fifty times more rich or more well connected than he is."

Mr. Armstrong rose from his chair, his face livid with pa.s.sion.

"Do you dare to oppose my wishes? Am I to be defied by my own daughter?

If you do not accept this gentleman who honours you by his preference, I swear----"

"Stop! stop, Edward!" and his wife's hand was placed on his arm, "why should you wish to force your child in a matter so important as marriage? Do not say anything now that you may afterwards regret."

The effort caused the gentle wife to sink back in her chair, faint with excitement.

Mary flew to her mother, and standing by her, she turned to her father, who said in a slightly subdued tone--

"I have a right to expect my own daughter to obey me when it is for her future good."

"No, my father," said Mary, who though deathly white was still calm, "you have lost that right. If you had told me of Henry Halford's letter to you openly and candidly, instead of concealing it and sending a refusal without one word of reference to me, I would then have given way to your wishes without a murmur, but now you cannot expect me to do so."

She a.s.sisted her mother to rise as she ceased speaking, and they left the room together in silence, Mr. Armstrong being too completely stunned by Mary's speech to utter a word in reply.

Surprise, not only at Mary's manner, but also at the discovery that she had by some means heard of Mr. Henry Halford's letter respecting herself, subdued for a time his rising anger, and presently he threw himself into an easy-chair and began to reflect.

Not for long, however, for Mary, after soothing her mother, and placing her on the sofa near the window, that the sweet calm of the summer evening might bring repose to her startled nerves, returned to the dining-room.

Mr. Armstrong scarcely noticed her approach till she threw herself on her knees by his chair, and exclaimed--

"Forgive me, my father, I forgot myself just now; I ought not to have spoken to you as I did; but why, oh! why did you not tell me of Mr.

Henry Halford's letter?"

The words, the pleading tones for pardon, softened for a time the violent pa.s.sions of the father; he placed his arm round his daughter, and said--

"My child, how could I consent to such a marriage for you, with nothing but poverty to look forward to, whether as the wife of a schoolmaster or a curate? The young man's letter proved that; and now you are mad enough to refuse an offer that even a duke's daughter might envy; why is this?"

"Papa, I could not marry to be ashamed of my husband; how could I honour and respect him if I found him inferior in knowledge to myself? Papa, if you intended me to marry only for money and position, why did you give me such a superior education? How do you suppose I could be satisfied with a man less clever than my own father? I know," she continued, changing her tone, "that Captain Fraser is good, and gentle; and amiable, but if you have seen him, and talked with him, you must know how far inferior he is in every way mentally to Mr. Henry Halford."

"And I suppose, then, you want me to consent to your marrying a man who expects me to advance sufficient money as your marriage portion to enable him to support his wife?"

"No, my father, I will never marry without your consent, and I do not expect you to give that consent to a man whom you treat as you would a beggar; but I want you to understand how impossible it is for me to accept any one else, even if he were as rich as Croesus. Ah, papa,"

she continued, clinging to his arm, "suppose mamma's relations had treated _you_ as you have treated Mr. Henry Halford!"

"But I had money, child."

"And can money make amends for the absence of everything else? are rich people always happy? Oh, papa," continued the young girl, who knew not with what a firm grasp the demon of gold had seized upon her father's heart, "you were not always like this; only promise me that I shall not be asked to marry a man just for money and position, and I shall not care about being married at all. I would rather live at home with you and dear mamma, for I am sure I shall never be happier anywhere else."

The pleading voice, the consciousness that he had not acted rightly respecting Henry Halford's letter, and that in many points his daughter's remarks were correct, softened the father. He drew her closely to his heart, and said--

"Mary, my child, although I cannot consent to your marriage with Mr.

Henry Halford, yet I promise you that you shall not be troubled with any other suitors till you choose one for yourself of whom I can approve.

And now," he continued, rising, "let us go to your mother."

But at this kindness on her father's part Mary felt her firmness giving way. Hastily returning his proffered kiss, she rushed upstairs to her room, and gave vent to her long-controlled feelings in a burst of tears.

Meanwhile Mr. Armstrong was cheering his wife's heart by relating what he had promised to Mary; and when she appeared on the announcement that tea was ready, there was a look of calm happiness on her face in spite of the reddened eyelids, which alone remained to bear testimony to the tears which had relieved her over-charged heart.

CHAPTER XXIV.

NEW ARRIVALS.

In a private room at an hotel near the London Bridge terminus of the South-Eastern Railway sat a party of five at breakfast.

The lady is a stranger, but we have met Arthur Franklyn and his two daughters before. Clara and Mabel have grown since we last saw them watching by the dying bed of their dear mother; indeed, Clara at the age of fifteen has the appearance and manners of a woman.

Between the sisters sits a boy of eleven, in whose dark eyes and delicate features can be traced a much stronger resemblance to those of his lost mother than in either of his sisters.

Arthur Franklyn looks more aged during the two years that have elapsed since his wife's death than might have been expected, and his face has a careworn expression, which greatly changes his appearance.

The door opens, and a respectable-looking woman enters the room, leading by the hand a beautiful little boy of about three years and a half old.

The child runs towards his father, who lifting him on his knee, exclaimed--"What, come to have breakfast with papa, Ally?"

"Yes, papa; may I?"

"No, let him go to nurse, Arthur," said a fretful voice; "he's too young to breakfast with us after such a fatiguing journey. I wonder you wish me to be troubled with all the children at once."

Arthur Franklyn looked annoyed.

"Anything for peace," he said, as he placed the boy on the floor; and yet his heart misgave him as he saw the piteous look on the face of poor f.a.n.n.y's youngest born, as the little one struggled to keep back the tears.

"Ally shall have breakfast with Clara," said the young girl, rising from her chair and casting a look of defiance at her stepmother; then lifting the little boy in her arms, she added, "papa, please send my teacup and plate by nurse," and she turned from the room as she spoke, little Albert clinging to her neck, his bright curls mixing with her dark hair in pleasing contrast.