“You appear to have had very stormy weather at Rose Hall?”

“Very much so,” replied Mary, without knowing very well what she said.

“And we have had nothing but calms and sunshine at Beech Park.  Is not that strange?”

“Very singular indeed.”

“I left the barometer very high—­not quite at settled calm—­that would be too much; but I find it very low indeed—­absolutely below nothing.”

Mary now did look up in some surprise; but she hastily withdrew from the intolerable expression of her cousin’s eyes.

“Dear Lady Emily!” cried she in a deprecating tone.

“Well—­what more?  You can’t suppose I’m to put up with hearing my own name; I’ve heard that fifty times to-day already from Lady Juliana’s parrot—­come, your face speaks volumes.  I read a declaration of love in the colour of your cheeks—­a refusal in the height of your nose—­and a sort of general agitation in the quiver of your lip and the dereglement of your hair.  Now for your pulse—­a leettle hasty, as Dr. Redgill would say; but let your tongue declare the rest.”

Mary would fain have concealed the cause of her distress from every human being, as she felt as if degraded still lower by repeating it to another; and she remained silent, struggling with her emotions.

“’Pon my honour, Mary, you really do use great liberties with my patience and good-nature.  I appeal to yourself whether I might not just as well have been reading one of Tully’s orations to a mule all this while.  Come, you must really make haste to tell your tale, for I am dying to disclose mine.  Or shall I begin?  No—­that would be inverting the order of nature or custom, which is the same thing—­beginning with the farce, and ending with the tragedy—­so commencez au commencement, m’amie."

Thus urged, Mary at length, and with much hesitation, related to her cousin the humiliation she had experienced.  “And after all,” said she, as she ended, “I am afraid I behaved very like a fool.  And yet what could I do in my situation, what would you have done?”

“Done! why, I should have taken the old woman by the shoulder, and cried Boh! in her ear.  And so this is the mighty matter!  You happen to overhear Mrs. Lennox, good old soul! recommending you as a wife to her son.  What could be more natural except his refusing to fall head in ears in love before he had time to pull his boots off.  And then to have a wife recommended to him! and all your perfections set forth, as if you had been a laundrymaid—­an early riser, neat worker, regular attention upon church!  Ugh I—­I must say I think his conduct quite meritorious.  I could almost find in my heart to fall in love with him myself, were it for no other reason than because he is not such a Tommy Goodchild as to be in love at his mamma’s bidding—­that is, loving his mother as he does—­for I see he could cut off a hand, or pluck out an eye, to please her, though he can’t or won’t give her his heart and soul to dispose of as she thinks proper.”