Anne, have you noticed Francis' hair?
It is so nice, it grows on his forehead just as Zara's does.

If he had been bald like Papa, I could not have fallen in love with him!" So once more the fate of a man was decided by his hair! And during this exchange of confidences, while Emily and Mary took a brisk walk with the Crow and young Billy, Francis Markrute faced his lady's ducal father in the library.
He had begun without any preamble, and with perfect calm; and the Duke, who was above all a courteous gentleman, had listened, first with silent consternation and resentment, and then with growing interest.
Francis Markrute had manipulated infinitely more difficult situations, when the balance of some of the powers of Europe depended upon his nerve; but he knew, as he talked to this gallant old Englishman, that he had never had so much at stake, and it stimulated him to do his best.
He briefly stated his history, which Ethelrida already knew; he made no apology for his bar sinister; indeed, he felt none was needed.

He knew, and the Duke knew, that when a man has won out as he had done, such things fade into space.

And then with wonderful taste and discretion he had but just alluded to his vast wealth, and that it would be so perfectly administered through Lady Ethelrida's hands, for the good of her order and of mankind.
And the Duke, accustomed to debate and the watching of methods in men, could not help admiring the masterly reserve and force of this man.
And, finally, when the financier had finished speaking, the Duke rose and stood before the fire, while he fixed his eyeglass in his eye.
"You have stated the case admirably, my dear Markrute," he said, in his distinguished old voice.

"You leave me without argument and with merely my prejudices, which I dare say are unjust, but I confess they are strongly in favor of my own countrymen and strongly against this union--though, on the other hand, my daughter and her happiness are my first consideration in this world.