what
she felt might prove a trial of good temper.

Accordingly, having heard the gentle Friend Howell discourse, and bent
in silent prayer for patience and charity, she came home and waited
until from the window of Schmidt's room she saw the tall, black figure
approach.

She went out to the hall and let in Madame de Courval, saying: "I have
waited for thee. Wilt thou come into the withdrawing-room? I have that
to say which may no longer be delayed."

"I myself had meant to talk with you of this unfortunate matter. It is
as well to have it over." So saying she followed her hostess. Both women
sat upright in the high-backed chairs, the neat, gray-clad Quaker lady,
tranquil and rosy; the black figure of the Huguenot dame, sallow, with
grave, unmoved features, a strange contrast.

"I shall be pleased to hear you, Madame Swanwick."

"It is simple. I have long seen that there was a growth of attachment
between our children. I did not--I do not approve it."

"Indeed," said Madame de Courval, haughtily. What was this woman to sit
in judgment on the Vicomte de Courval?

"I have done my best to keep them apart. I spoke to Margaret, and sent
her away again and again as thou knowest. It has been in vain, and now
having learned that thou hast accepted a condition of things we do
neither of us like, I have thought it well to have speech of thee."

"I do not like it, and I never shall. I have, however, yielded a
reluctant consent. I cannot quarrel with my only child; but I shall
never like it--never."

"Never is a long day."

"I am not of those who change. There is no fitness in it, none. My son
is of a class far above her. They are both poor." A sharp reply to the
reference to social distinctions was on Mary Swanwick's tongue. She
resisted the temptation, and said quietly:

"Margaret will not always be without means; my uncle will give her, on
his death, all he has; and as to class, Madame, the good Master to whom
we prayed this morning, must--"

"It is not a matter for discussion," broke in the elder woman.

"No; I agree with thee. It is not, but--were it not as well that two
Christian gentlewomen should accept the inevitable without reserve and
not make their children unhappy?"

"Gentlewomen!"

Mary Swanwick reddened. "I said so. We, too, are not without the pride
of race you value. A poor business, but,"--and she looked straight at
the vicomtesse, unable to resist the temptation to retort--"we are not
given to