There was much in this promise, but still not so much as Lady Arabella wished to get.  Mary, she knew, was obstinate, yet reasonable; Frank, she thought, was both obstinate and unreasonable.  It might be possible to work on Mary’s reason, but quite impossible to touch Frank’s irrationality.  So she persevered—­foolishly.

’Miss Thorne—­that, is, Mary, for I still wish to be thought your friend—­’

’I will tell you the truth, Lady Arabella:  for some considerable time past I have not thought you so.’

’Then you have wronged me.  But I will go on with what I was saying.  You quite acknowledge that this is a foolish affair?’

‘I acknowledge no such thing.’

’Something very much like it.  You have not a word to say in its defence.’

‘Not to you:  I do not choose to be put on my defence by you.’

’I don’t know who has more right; however, you promise that if Frank wishes it, you will release him from his engagement.’

‘Release him!  It is for him to release me, that is, if he wishes it.’

’Very well; at any rate, you give him permission to do so.  But will it not be more honourable for you to begin?’

‘No; I think not.’

’Ah, but it would.  If he, in his position, should be the first to speak, the first to suggest that this affair between you is a foolish one, what would people say?’

‘They would say the truth.’

‘And what would you yourself say?’

‘Nothing.’

‘What would he think himself?’

’Ah, that I do not know.  It is according as that may be, that he will or will not act at your bidding.’

’Exactly; and because you know him to be high-minded, because you think that he, having so much to give, will not break his word to you—­to you who have nothing to give in return—­it is, therefore, that you say that the first step must be taken by him.  Is that noble?’

Then Mary rose from her seat, for it was no longer possible for her to speak what it was in her to say, sitting there leisurely on her sofa.  Lady Arabella’s worship of money had not hitherto been so brought forward in the conversation as to give her unpardonable offence; but now she felt that she could no longer restrain her indignation.  ’To you who have nothing to give in return!’ Had she not given all that she possessed?  Had she not emptied his store into her lap? that heart of hers, beating with such genuine life, capable of such perfect love, throbbing with so grand a pride; had she not given that?  And was it not that, between him and her, more than twenty Greshamsburys, nobler than any pedigree?  ‘To you who have nothing to give,’ indeed!  This to her who was so ready to give everything!