Macfarren ran hastily over in his mind a half-dozen names of the wives of titled and untitled Englishmen then in New York whom he had met in society. No, none of them would do; and, besides, he could not take the liberty.
"Dear lady," he said, after an embarrassed pause, "I myself am a commoner. I have no title except that of a gentleman and an honest man. I can not stoop to ask favors of those with whom my acquaintance is but slight. I offer you the protection of people like myself. You will not want for respect among them."
At this Marian jumped up with the greatest animation. "Now, by my faith, I see thou art truly a gentleman, no matter what thy birth may be; for birth is but an accident. But honor, wisdom, and valor are no accidents. Nor is that noble science, the art of being a gentleman, an accident, and, although I will not go with the mercer's wife, yet will I go alone with thee—for I see thou art both learned and polite; and look you, friend, for all that I value my place, I esteem honor, wisdom, and valor more than anything else in the world." And then, laughing, she added, "Hunger doth pinch me, and thou must take me quickly to the banqueting-hall to appease this gnawing."
Macfarren smiled too. A nature so noble as hers could easily cast aside the fetters of conventional rank. She evidently believed in the great republic of merit, although she could not formulate her belief. She rose and moved gracefully forward to the door which Macfarren held open respectfully for her. As she passed by him into the clearer light of the little drawing-room and the brilliant corridor beyond, he received a kind of electric shock at her extreme loveliness. She wore a trailing gown of brocaded satin, and her long hanging sleeves were lined with crimson velvet and trimmed with swan's-down. A mighty ruff encircled her neck, and her hair was curiously arranged with pearls. Her slender hands were crossed before her. As she stepped out in the hall she noticed the carpet, which had escaped her observation before. She started back.
"What! dost thou lay fine cloths upon the floor instead of rushes? I would like to have a gown of this rich stuff when I go to court. Canst thou not buy me enough for a train, or even a petticoat?"
"Certainly, with pleasure," said Macfarren.
"But will it not cost a prince's ransom?" cried Marian, anxiously, stooping down and picking up a small rug that lay before the door. "Think how my lady Stukely would fume if she saw me with a petticoat of this queenly stuff."
She held the rug up before her in admiration, but, as if suddenly ashamed of her childishness, dropped it and walked rapidly down the corridor, Macfarren keeping at her side. Macfarren knew but little of the dress of women, and, having seen many startling costumes in New York society of late years, flattered himself that his companion's guise was not much out of the ordinary run. But his illusion vanished when Mrs. Dietrick Van Tromp swept out, gorgeous in dinner-dress, from a door opening on the corridor. He saw at once that she was stricken with surprise, and, as she bowed to him, her eyes asked, expressively:
"Who is she?"
Nor was Marian one whit less impressed with the descendant of the Knickerbockers. She gave one comprehensive glance of admiration, and whispered hurriedly to Macfarren: