is a pupil of mine--a
Swiss girl."

"And of course you are going to be married to her? Don't deny that."

"Married! I think I shall--if Fate spares us both ten weeks longer. That
is my little wild strawberry, Hunsden, whose sweetness made me careless
of your hothouse grapes."

"Stop! No boasting--no heroics; I won't hear them. What is she? To what
caste does she belong?"

I smiled. Hunsden unconsciously laid stress on the word caste, and, in
fact, republican, lordhater as he was, Hunsden was as proud of his old
----shire blood, of his descent and family standing, respectable and
respected through long generations back, as any peer in the realm of
his Norman race and Conquest-dated title. Hunsden would as little have
thought of taking a wife from a caste inferior to his own, as a Stanley
would think of mating with a Cobden. I enjoyed the surprise I should
give; I enjoyed the triumph of my practice over his theory; and leaning
over the table, and uttering the words slowly but with repressed glee, I
said concisely--

"She is a lace-mender."

Hunsden examined me. He did not SAY he was surprised, but surprised he
was; he had his own notions of good breeding. I saw he suspected I
was going to take some very rash step; but repressing declamation or
remonstrance, he only answered--

"Well, you are the best; judge of your own affairs. A lace-mender may
make a good wife as well as a lady; but of course you have taken care
to ascertain thoroughly that since she has not education, fortune or
station, she is well furnished with such natural qualities as you think
most likely to conduce to your happiness. Has she many relations?"

"None in Brussels."

"That is better. Relations are often the real evil in such cases. I
cannot but think that a train of inferior connections would have been a
bore to you to your life's end."

After sitting in silence a little while longer, Hunsden rose, and was
quietly bidding me good evening; the polite, considerate manner in which
he offered me his hand (a thing he had never done before), convinced me
that he thought I had made a terrible fool of myself; and that, ruined
and thrown away as I was, it was no time for sarcasm or cynicism, or
indeed for anything but indulgence and forbearance.

"Good night, William," he said, in a really soft voice, while his face
looked benevolently compassionate. "Good night, lad. I wish you and your
future wife much prosperity; and I hope she will satisfy