h.

On one point Mary's mind was strongly made up. No wealth, no mere
worldly advantage could make any one her superior. If she were born
a gentlewoman, then was she fit to match with any gentleman. Let
the most wealthy man in Europe pour all his wealth at her feet, she
could, if so inclined, give him back at any rate more than that.
That offered at her feet she knew she would never tempt her to yield
up the fortress of her heart, the guardianship of her soul, the
possession of her mind; not that alone, nor that, even, as any
possible slightest fraction of a make-weight.

If she were born a gentlewoman! And then came to her mind those
curious questions; what makes a gentleman? what makes a gentlewoman?
What is the inner reality, the spiritualised quintessence of that
privilege in the world which men call rank, which forces the
thousands and hundreds of thousands to bow down before the few elect?
What gives, or can give it, or should give it?

And she answered the question. Absolute, intrinsic, acknowledged,
individual merit must give it to its possessor, let him be whom, and
what, and whence he might. So far the spirit of democracy was strong
with her. Beyond this it could be had but by inheritance, received
as it were second-hand, or twenty-second-hand. And so far the spirit
of aristocracy was strong within her. All this she had, as may be
imagined, learnt in early years from her uncle; and all this she was
at great pains to teach Beatrice Gresham, the chosen of her heart.

When Frank declared that Mary had a right to give him an answer,
he meant that he had a right to expect one. Mary acknowledged this
right, and gave it to him.

"Mr Gresham," she said.

"Oh, Mary; Mr Gresham!"

"Yes, Mr Gresham. It must be Mr Gresham after that. And, moreover, it
must be Miss Thorne as well."

"I'll be shot if it shall, Mary."

"Well; I can't say that I shall be shot if it be not so; but if it be
not so, if you do not agree that it shall be so, I shall be turned
out of Greshamsbury."

"What! you mean my mother?" said Frank.

"Indeed, I mean no such thing," said Mary, with a flash from her eye
that made Frank almost start. "I mean no such thing. I mean you, not
your mother. I am not in the least afraid of Lady Arabella; but I am
afraid of you."

"Afraid of me, Mary!"

"Miss Thorne; pray, pray, remember. It must be Miss Thorne. Do not
turn me out of Greshamsbury. Do not separate me from Beatrice. It
is you that will