s."

It was then, with her son's handsome face smiling down on her, that the
countess grew pale and laid her hand, with instinctive fear, on the
papers spread before her. She nerved herself for the struggle; it would
never do to give way.

"I have other news for you, Lance," she said, and he looked with clear,
bright, defiant eyes in her face.

She drew herself to her full height, as though the very attitude gave
the greatest strength; there was no bend, no yielding in her. Stern,
erect, proud, she looked full in her son's face; it was as though they
were measuring their strength one against the other.

"I have never said to you, Lance, what I thought of this wretched
mistake you call your marriage," she began; "my contempt and indignation
were too great that you should dare to give the grand old name you bear
to a dairy-maid."

Leone's beautiful Spanish face flashed before him, and he laughed at the
word dairy-maid; she was peerless as a queen.

"Dare is not the word to use to a man, mother," he retorted.

"Nor should I use it to a man," said my lady, with a satirical smile. "I
am not speaking to a man, but to a hot-headed boy; a man has
self-control, self-denial, self-restraint, you have none; a man weighs
the honor of his name or his race in his hands; a man hesitates before
he degrades a name that kings have delighted to honor, before he ruins
hopelessly the prestige of a grand old race for the sake of a
dairy-maid. You, a hot-headed, foolish boy, have done all this;
therefore, I repeat that I am not speaking to a man."

"You use strong language, mother," he said.

"I feel strongly; my contempt is strong," she said. "I know not why so
great a humiliation should have fallen on me as that my son--the son of
whom I was proud--should be the first to bring shame on his name."

"I have brought no shame on it, mother," he said, angrily.

"No shame!" said the countess, bitterly. "I can read, fancy, the short
annals of the Lanswells--'Hubert, Earl Lanswell, died while fighting
loyally for his king and his country; Ross, Earl Lanswell, was famed for
political services; Lancelot, Earl Lanswell, married a dairy-maid.' I
would rather," she cried, with flashing eyes, "that you had died in your
childhood, than lived to bring such bitter shame on a loyal race."

His face grew pale with anger, as the bitter words were hurled at him.

"Will you understand, once for all, mother, that I have _not_ married a
dairy-maid?"