—clave once and forever. A vague tenderness hung about those days yet, enough to make her cast the halo of her sympathy over even commonplace Susan Bennett.
"Will you give me your confidence? Who is this friend of yours, and why does he not at once ask you for his wife? Perhaps he is poor and can not afford to marry?"
"Oh. dear me! I'm not so stupid as to think of a poor man, Bless you! he has a title and an estate too. If I get him I shall make a splendid marriage."
Christian recoiled. Her sympathy was altogether thrown away. There evidently was not a point in common between foolish Christian Oakley, taking dreamy twilight saunters under the apple-trees—not alone; looking up to her companion as something between Sir Launcelot and the Angel Gabriel—and this girl, carrying on a clandestine flirtation, which she hoped would—and was determined to make—end in a marriage, with a young man much above her own station, and just because he was so. As for loving him in the sense that Christian had understood love, Miss Bennett was utterly incapable of it. She never thought of love at all—only of matrimony.
Still, the facts of the case boded ill. A wealthy young nobleman, and a pretty, but coarse and half-educated shopkeeper's daughter—no good could come of the acquaintance—perhaps fatal harm. Once more Christian thought she would try to conquer her disgust, and win the girl to better things.
"I do not wish to intrude—no third person has a right to intrude upon these affairs; but I wish I could be of any service. You must perceive, Miss Bennett, that your proceedings are not quite right—not quite safe. Are you sure you know enough about this gentleman? How long have you been acquainted with him? He probably belongs to the University."
Miss Bennnett laughed. "Not he—at least not now. He got into a scrape and left it, and has only been back here a week; but I have found out where his estate is, and all about him. He has the prettiest property, and is perfectly independent, and a baronet likewise. Only think"—and the girl, recovering her spirits, tossed her handsome head, and spread out her showy, tawdry gown—"only think of being called 'Lady!'—Lady Uniacke."
Had Miss Bennett been less occupied in admiring herself in the mirrors she must have seen the start Mrs. Grey gave—for the moment only, however—and then she spoke.
"Sir Edwin Uniacke's character here is well known. He is a bad man. For you to keep up any acquaintance with him is positive madness."
"Not in the least; I know perfectly what I am about, and can take care of myself, thank you. He has sown his wild oats, and got a title and estate, which makes a very great difference. Besides, I hope I'm as sharp as he. I shall not let myself down, no fear. I'll make him make me Lady Uniacke."