fear so--yet an opera-box would be a proper appendage to your rank, Lady
Vargrave."

"My dear Mr. Templeton--"

"Lord Vargrave, if your ladyship pleases."

"I beg pardon. May you live long to enjoy your honours; but I, my dear
lord--I am not fit to share them: it is only in our quiet life that I
can forget what--what I was. You terrify me when you talk of
court--of--"

"Stuff, Lady Vargrave! stuff; we accustom ourselves to these things. Do
I look like a man who has stood behind a counter? rank is a glove that
stretches to the hand that wears it. And the child, dear child,--dear
Evelyn, she shall be the admiration of London, the beauty, the heiress,
the--oh, she will do me honour!"

"She will, she will!" said Lady Vargrave, and the tears gushed from her
eyes.

Lord Vargrave was softened.

"No mother ever deserved more from a child than you from Evelyn."

"I would hope I have done my duty," said Lady Vargrave, drying her
tears.

"Papa, papa!" cried an impatient voice, tapping at the window, "come and
play, papa--come and play at ball, papa!"