Marcella went restlessly towards the fire and began to examine the things on the mantelpiece.

“Can’t people agree to differ, you sentimentalist?  Can’t they respect each other, without echoing each other on every subject?”

“Respect!” cried Mary, with a sudden scorn, which was startling from a creature so soft.

“There, she could tear me in pieces!” said Marcella, laughing, though her lip was not steady.  “I wonder what you would be like, Mary, if you were engaged.”

Mary ran her needle in and out with lightning speed for a second or two, then she said almost under her breath—­

“I shouldn’t be engaged unless I were in love.  And if I were in love, why, I would go anywhere—­do anything—­believe anything—­if he told me!”

“Believe anything?—­Mary—­you wouldn’t!”

“I don’t mean as to religion,” said Mary, hastily.  “But everything else—­I would give it all up!—­governing one’s self, thinking for one’s self.  He should do it, and I would bless him!”

She looked up crimson, drawing a very long breath, as though from some deep centre of painful, passionate feeling.  It was Marcella’s turn to stare.  Never had Mary so revealed herself before.

“Did you ever love any one like that, Mary?” she asked quickly.

Mary dropped her head again over her work and did not answer immediately.

“Do you see—­” she said at last, with a change of tone, “do you see that we have got our invitation?”

Marcella, about to give the rein to an eager curiosity Mary’s manner had excited in her, felt herself pulled up sharply.  When she chose, this little meek creature could put on the same unapproachableness as her brother.  Marcella submitted.

“Yes, I see,” she said, taking up a card on the mantelpiece.  “It will be a great crush.  I suppose you know.  They have asked the whole county, it seems to me.”

The card bore an invitation in Miss Raeburn’s name for the Rector and his sister to a dance at Maxwell Court—­the date given was the twenty-fifth of January.

“What fun!” said Mary, her eye sparkling.  “You needn’t suppose that I know enough of balls to be particular.  I have only been to one before in my life—­ever.  That was at Cheltenham.  An aunt took me—­I didn’t dance.  There were hardly any men, but I enjoyed it.”

“Well, you shall dance this time,” said Marcella, “for I will make Mr. Raeburn introduce you.”

“Nonsense, you won’t have any time to think about me.  You will be the queen—­everybody will want to speak to you.  I shall sit in a corner and look at you—­that will be enough for me.”

Marcella went up to her quickly and kissed her, then she said, still holding her—­

“I know you think I ought to be very happy, Mary!”

“I should think I do!” said Mary, with astonished emphasis, when the voice paused—­“I should think I do!”