er to spoil it all
by marriage, and my station in life, to say nothing of my small estate,
is in no way up to your value. It would not be a fair exchange. Your
husband shall be at least a duke, with not less than forty thousand
pounds a year. That, by the way, is a part of my mission in Sundridge.
No, no, I do not bring an offer!" I said, hastily, noticing that she
drew away from me in her manner, "I simply hope to pave the way to such
an offer some time in the future, and want to warn you against doing
anything that might forestall good fortune."

I had hardly finished speaking when her manner of drawing away became so
pronounced that I feared I might lose my race by going too fast, so I
quickly sought to right myself by saying with marked emphasis:--

"I am not going to pry into your affairs."

A telltale blush came to her cheek as she interrupted me with a touch of
warmth: "I have no affairs."

"I am sure you have not," I answered soothingly, "though a girl as
beautiful as you are is sure to attract men, and is quite as sure to have
little affairs. But they are of no more importance than a laugh and a
sigh."

"Yes, yes, of course. Of no importance--not the least," she answered,
blushing exquisitely, and unconsciously telling me there was an affair.

"No, no," I continued earnestly. "I do not want to pry. I am simply going
to suggest a project which perhaps you may turn to your advantage.
Marriage has no part in it save that the greatest good fortune that can
befall a woman is to marry well, which I hope will be the ultimate result
of what I shall propose. If a young woman's friends do not put her in a
position to marry the right sort of a man, they fail in their duty to
her."

"I hate the word 'marriage,'" returned Frances, impatiently.

"Ah, but it is a woman's privilege, the one great purpose of her life," I
insisted. "Why pretend otherwise? I don't believe in the drag-net process
of getting a husband, but in England a girl must be seen before she is
married, and her chief concern should be to be seen by the right man."

"I should detest the right man," returned Frances, now grown almost
surly.

"Yes, yes, now, perhaps. But the suggestion I have to make, if acted
upon, will do all these things for you and will give you the opportunity
to detest the 'right man' intelligently if you feel so inclined when you
meet him. I have taken it upon myself to come all the way to Sundridge
with a suggestion, because