They stood side by side under the shade of an elder tree.
Plainly as patrician was written on her beautiful face and figure, plebeian was imprinted on his.

He was tall, but there was no high-bred grace, no ease of manner, no courteous dignity such as distinguishes the true English gentleman.

His face expressed passion, but half a dozen meaner emotions were there as well.

None were perceptible to the girl by his side.

She thought him perfection and nothing else.
How comes Marion Arleigh, the heiress of Hanton, ward of Lord Ridsdale, one of the proudest men in England, and pupil of Miss Carleton, to be alone in the sweet, soft eveningtide with Allan Lyster, whose name was not of the fairest repute among men?
If Lord Ridsdale had known it, his anger would have been without bounds; if Miss Carleton had guessed it, she would have been too shocked ever to have admitted Miss Arleigh in her doors again.