in her way. I have sometimes
thought that I ought to repudiate myself; give up my prospects, and
call myself John Trafford--so as to make way for her more lordly
lordlings."

"That is nonsense, John."

"At any rate it is impossible. I could only do it by blowing my
brains out--which would not be in accordance with my ideas of life.
But you are not in anybody's way. There is nothing to be got by
poisoning you. If she were to murder me there would be something
reasonable in it,--something that one could pardon; but in torturing
you she is instigated by a vile ambition. She is afraid, lest her own
position should be tarnished by an inferior marriage on your part.
There would be something noble in killing me for the sake of dear
little Fred. She would be getting something for him who, of course,
is most dear to her. But the other is the meanest vanity;--and I will
not stand it."

This conversation took place early in October, when they had been
some weeks at Trafford Park. Hampstead had come and gone, as was his
wont, never remaining there above two or three days at a time. Lord
Kingsbury, who was ill at ease, had run hither and thither about
the country, looking after this or the other property, and staying
for a day or two with this or the other friend. The Marchioness had
declined to invite any friends to the house, declaring to her husband
that the family was made unfit for gaiety by the wicked conduct of
his eldest daughter. There was no attempt at shooting the pheasants,
or even preparing to shoot them, so great was the general depression.
Mr. Greenwood was there, and was thrown into very close intercourse
with her ladyship. He fully sympathized with her ladyship. Although
he had always agreed with the Marquis,--as he had not forgotten to
tell George Roden during that interview in London,--in regard to
his lordship's early political tenets, nevertheless his mind was so
constituted that he was quite at one with her ladyship as to the
disgraceful horror of low associations for noble families. Not only
did he sympathize as to the abomination of the Post Office clerk, but
he sympathized also fully as to the positive unfitness which Lord
Hampstead displayed for that station in life to which he had been
called. Mr. Greenwood would sigh and wheeze and groan when the future
prospects of the House of Trafford were discussed between him and her
ladyship. It might be, or it might not be, well,--so he kindly put
it in talki