That evening, as was now almost his daily habit, Mr. Broune came to her. There was something in the absolute friendship which now existed between Lady Carbury and the editor of the "Morning Breakfast Table," which almost made her scrupulous as to asking from him any further literary favour. She fully recognised,--no woman perhaps more fully,--the necessity of making use of all aid and furtherance which might come within reach. With such a son, with such need for struggling before her, would she not be wicked not to catch even at every straw? But this man had now become so true to her, that she hardly knew how to beg him to do that which she, with all her mistaken feelings, did in truth know that he ought not to do. He had asked her to marry him, for which,--though she had refused him,--she felt infinitely grateful. And though she had refused him, he had lent her money, and had supported her in her misery by his continued counsel. If he would offer to do this thing for her she would accept his kindness on her knees,--but even she could not bring herself to ask to have this added to his other favours. Her first word to him was about Mr. Alf. "So he has given up the paper?"

That evening, as was now almost his daily habit, Mr. Broune came to see Lady Carbury. Now that they were friends, she had scruples about asking him for any further literary favour. This man had now become so true to her, that she hardly knew how to beg him to do anything which she knew he ought not to do. He had asked her to marry him, for which she felt infinitely grateful. And he had lent her money, and had advised her in her misery.
Her first word to him was about Mr. Alf. "So he has given up the paper?"
