"Oh, Ludovic! you are intending to laugh at me now."
"I was never less inclined to laugh in my life—never, I can assure you. And now I am more certain than ever that your objection to Miss Robarts arises from your not knowing her. You will find, I think, when you do know her, that she is as well able to hold her own as any lady of your acquaintance—ay, and to maintain her husband's position too. I can assure you that I shall have no fear of her on that score."
"I think, dearest, that perhaps you hardly—"
"I think this, mother, that in such a matter as this I must choose for myself. I have chosen; and I now ask you, as my mother, to go to her and bid her welcome. Dear mother, I will own this, that I should not be happy if I thought that you did not love my wife." These last words he said in a tone of affection that went to his mother's heart, and then he left the room.
Poor Lady Lufton, when she was alone, waited till she heard her son's steps retreating through the hall, and then betook herself up stairs to her customary morning work. She sat down at last as though about so to occupy herself; but her mind was too full to allow of her taking up her pen. She had often said to herself, in days which to her were not as yet long gone by, that she would choose a bride for her son, and that then she would love the chosen one with all her heart. She would dethrone herself in favor of this new queen, sinking with joy into her dowager state, in order that her son's wife might shine with the greater splendor. The fondest day-dreams of her life had all had reference to the time when her son should bring home a new Lady Lufton, selected by herself from the female excellence of England, and in which she might be the first to worship her new idol. But could she dethrone herself for Lucy Robarts? Could she give up her chair of state in order to place thereon the little girl from the Parsonage? Could she take to her heart, and treat with absolute loving confidence—with the confidence of an almost idolatrous mother, that little chit who, a few months since, had sat awkwardly in one corner of her drawing-room, afraid to speak to any one? And yet it seemed that it must come to this—to this, or else those day-dreams of hers would in no wise come to pass.
She sat herself down, trying to think whether it were
