does n't dream that you are Wildmay. True, if you were
abruptly to say to her, 'I am Wildmay--you are the woman,' she
would be astonished--even, if you will, at first, more or less
taken aback, disconcerted. But indignant? Why? What is this
gulf that separates you from her? What are these conventional
barriers of which you make so much? She is a duchess, she is
the daughter of a lord, and she is rich. Well, all that is to
be regretted. But you are neither a plebeian nor a pauper
yourself. You are a man of good birth, you are a man of some
parts, and you have a decent income. It amounts to this--she
is a great lady, you are a small gentleman. In ordinary
circumstances, to be sure, so small a gentleman could not ask
so great a lady to become his wife. But here the circumstances
are not ordinary. Destiny has meddled in the business. Small
gentleman though you are, an unusual and subtle relation-ship
has been established between you and your great lady. She
herself says, 'Ordinary rules cannot apply--he ought to tell
her.' Very good: tell her. She will be astonished, but she
will see that there is no occasion for resentment. And though
the odds are, of course, a hundred to one that she will not
accept you, still she must treat you as an honourable suitor.
And whether she accepts you or rejects you, it is better to
tell her and to have it over, than to go on forever dangling
this way, like the poor cat in the adage. Tell her--put your
fate to the touch--hope nothing, fear nothing--and bow to the
event."

But even this temperate answer provoked its counter-answer.

"The odds are a hundred to one, a thousand to one, that she