"Who loved one woman, and who clave to her"

--clave once and forever. A vague tenderness hung about those days
yet, enough to make her cast the halo of her sympathy over even
commonplace Susan Bennett.

"Will you give me your confidence? Who is this friend of yours, and
why does he not at once ask you for his wife? Perhaps he is poor and
can not afford to marry?"

"Oh. dear me! I'm not so stupid as to think of a poor man, Bless you!
he has a title and an estate too. If I get him I shall make a splendid
marriage."

Christian recoiled. Her sympathy was altogether thrown away. There
evidently was not a point in common between foolish Christian Oakley,
taking dreamy twilight saunters under the apple-trees--not alone;
looking up to her companion as something between Sir Launcelot and
the Angel Gabriel--and this girl, carrying on a clandestine flirtation,
which she hoped would--and was determined to make--end in a
marriage, with a young man much above her own station, and just
because he was so. As for loving him in the sense that Christian had
understood love, Miss Bennett was utterly incapable of it. She never
thought of love at all--only of matrimony.

Still, the facts of the case boded ill. A wealthy young nobleman, and a
pretty, but coarse and half-educated shopkeeper's daughter--no good
could come of the acquaintance--perhaps fatal harm. Once more
Christian thought she would try to conquer her disgust, and win the girl
to better things.