could not obliterate my sense of a disparity, just
as great between us in years as in condition. I was nineteen my last
birthday, Lord Culduff;" and she said this with a pouting air of
offended dignity.

"A peeress of nineteen would be a great success at a drawing-room,"
said he, with a tone of pompous deliberation.

"Pray, my Lord, let us quit a theme we cannot agree upon. With all
your Lordship's delicacy, you have not been able to conceal the vast
sacrifices it has cost you to make me your present proposal I have no
such tact. I have not even the shadow of it; and I could never hope to
hide what it would cost me to become _grande dame_."

"A proposal of marriage; an actual proposal," muttered Bramleigh, as he
arose to move away. "I heard it with my own ears; and heard her refuse
it, besides."

An hour later, when he mounted the steps of the chief entrance, he met
Marion, who came towards him with an open letter. "This is from poor
Lord Culduff," said she; "he has been stopping these last three days at
the L'Estranges', and what between boredom and bad cookery, he could n't
hold out any longer. He begs he may be permitted to come back here; he
says, 'Put me below the salt, if you like,--anywhere, only let it be
beneath your roof, and within the circle of your fascinating society.'
Shall I say Come, papa?"

"I suppose we must," muttered Bramleigh, sulkily, and passed on to his
room.

CHAPTER XXI. GEORGE AND JULIA.

It was after a hard day with the hounds that George L'Estrange reached
the cottage to a late dinner. The hunting had not been good. They had
found three times, but each time lost their fox after a short burst, and
though the morning broke favorably, with a low cloudy sky and all the
signs of a good scenting day, towards the afternoon a brisk northeaster
had sprung up, making the air sharp and piercing, and rendering the dogs
wild and uncertain. In fact, it was one of those days which occasionally
irritate men more than actual "blanks;" there was a constant promise
of something, always ending in disappointment. The horses, too, were
fretful and impatient, as horses are wont to be with frequent checks,
and when excited by a cold and cutting wind.

Even Nora, perfection that she was of temper and training, had not
behaved well. She had taken her fences hotly and impatiently, and
actually chested a stiff bank, which cost herself and her rider a heavy
fall, and a disgrace that the curate felt more