And yet the matter was of such importance as to justify almost any
interference. A Roman Catholic Irish girl of whom nothing was known but
that her mother was said to be a widow, was, in Lady Scroope's eyes, as
formidable a danger as could come in the way of her husband's heir. Fred
Neville was, she thought, with all his good qualities, exactly the man
to fall in love with a wild Irish girl. If Fred were to write home some
day and say that he was about to marry such a bride,--or, worse again,
that he had married her, the tidings would nearly kill the Earl. After
all that had been endured, such a termination to the hopes of the family
would be too cruel! And Lady Scroope could not but feel the injustice of
it. Every thing was being done for this heir, for whom nothing need have
been done. He was treated as a son, but he was not a son. He was treated
with exceptional favour as a son. Everything was at his disposal. He
might marry and begin life at once with every want amply supplied, if
he would only marry such a woman as was fit to be a future Countess of
Scroope. Very little was required from him. He was not expected to marry
an heiress. An heiress indeed was prepared for him, and would be there,
ready for him at Christmas,--an heiress, beautiful, well-born, fit in
every respect,--religious too. But he was not to be asked to marry
Sophie Mellerby. He might choose for himself. There were other well-born
young women about the world,--duchesses' granddaughters in abundance!
But it was imperative that he should marry at least a lady, and at least
a Protestant.

Lady Scroope felt very strongly that he should never have been allowed
to rejoin his regiment, when a home at Scroope was offered to him. He
was a free agent of course, and equally of course the title and the
property must ultimately be his. But something of a bargain might have
been made with him when all the privileges of a son were offered to him.
When he was told that he might have all Scroope to himself,--for it