hand on his shoulder.

"You were cruel," said he, gently, and in a whisper, as he winced under
the touch of the hand. Then turning to the earl, who was gazing at him
in blank surprise,--it never occurred to Lord Lansmere that there could
be a doubt of his son's marrying beneath the rank modestly stated by the
countess,--Harley stretched forth his hand, and said, in his soft winning
tone, "You have ever been most gracious to me, and most forbearing; it is
but just that I should sacrifice the habits of an egotist, to gratify a
wish which you so warmly entertain. I agree with you, too, that our race
should not close in me,--Noblesse oblige. But you know I was ever
romantic; and I must love where I marry; or, if not love, I must feel
that my wife is worthy of all the love I could once have bestowed. Now,
as to the vague word 'gentleman' that my mother employs--word that means
so differently on different lips--I confess that I have a prejudice
against young ladies brought up in the 'excellent foppery of the world,'
as the daughters of gentlemen of our rank mostly are. I crave,
therefore, the most liberal interpretation of this word 'gentleman.'
And so long as there be nothing mean or sordid in the birth, habits, and
education of the father of this bride to be, I trust you will both agree
to demand nothing more,--neither titles nor pedigree."

"Titles, no, assuredly," said Lady Lansmere; "they do not make
gentlemen."

"Certainly not," said the earl; "many of our best families are untitled."

"Titles--no," repeated Lady Lansmere; "but ancestors yes."

"Ah, my mother," said Harley, with his most sad and quiet smile, "it is