I will marry her to-morrow, or at any time you may fix, if a marriage can be so arranged that she shall never be more than Mrs.Neville." "And what would you be ?" "Mr.Neville." "And what would her son be ?" "Oh;--just the same,--when he grew up.

Perhaps there wouldn't be a son." "God forbid that there should on those terms.

You intend that your children and her children shall be--bastards.

That's about it, Mr.
Neville." The romance seemed to vanish when the matter was submitted to him in this very prosaic manner.

"As to what you might choose to call yourself, that would be nothing to me and not very much I should say, to her.