Who is it, maiden,
to whom you have thus rashly attached yourself?--rashly, I fear it
must be."
"It is the young Scottish Lord Glenvarloch, madam," answered Margaret,
in a low and modest tone, but sufficiently firm, considering the
subject.
"The young Lord of Glenvarloch!" repeated the lady, in great surprise-
-"Maiden, you are distracted in your wits."
"I knew you would say so, madam," answered Margaret. "It is what
another person has already told me--it is, perhaps, what all the world
would tell me--it is what I am sometimes disposed to tell myself. But
look at me, madam, for I will now come before you, and tell me if
there is madness or distraction in my look and word, when I repeat to
you again, that I have fixed my affections on this young nobleman."
"If there is not madness in your look or word, maiden, there is
infinite folly in what you say," answered the Lady Hermione, sharply.
"When did you ever hear that misplaced love brought any thing but
wretchedness? Seek a match among your equals, Margaret, and escape the
countless kinds of risk and misery that must attend an affection
beyond your degree.--Why do you smile, maiden? Is there aught to cause
scorn in what I say?"
"Surely no, madam," answered Margaret. "I only smiled to think how it
should happen, that, while rank made such a wide difference between
creatures formed from the same clay, the wit of the vulgar should,
nevertheless, jump so exactly the same length with that of the
accomplished and the exalted.
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