“I am happy—­and I want to make him happy.  But there are so many things, so many different aims and motives, that complicate life, that puzzle one.  One doesn’t know how much to give of one’s self, to each—­”

She stood with her hand on Mary’s shoulder, looking away towards the window and the snowy garden, her brow frowning and distressed.

“Well, I don’t understand,” said Mary, after a pause.  “As I said before, it seems to me so plain and easy—­to be in love, and give one’s self all—­to that.  But you are so much cleverer than I, Marcella, you know so much more.  That makes the difference.  I can’t be like you.  Perhaps I don’t want to be!”—­and she laughed.  “But I can admire you and love you, and think about you.  There, now, tell me what you are going to wear?”

“White satin, and Mr. Raeburn wants me to wear some pearls he is going to give me, some old pearls of his mother’s.  I believe I shall find them at Mellor when I get back.”

There was little girlish pleasure in the tone.  It was as though Marcella thought her friend would be more interested in her bit of news than she was herself, and was handing it on to her to please her.

“Isn’t there a superstition against doing that—­before you’re married?” said Mary, doubtfully.

“As if I should mind if there was!  But I don’t believe there is, or Miss Raeburn would have heard of it.  She’s a mass of such things.  Well!  I hope I shall behave myself to please her at this function.  There are not many things I do to her satisfaction; it’s a mercy we’re not going to live with her.  Lord Maxwell is a dear; but she and I would never get on.  Every way of thinking she has, rubs me up the wrong way; and as for her view of me, I am just a tare sown among her wheat.  Perhaps she is right enough!”

Marcella leant her cheek pensively on one hand, and with the other played with the things on the mantelpiece.

Mary looked at her, and then half smiled, half sighed.

“I think it is a very good thing you are to be married soon,” she said, with her little air of wisdom, which offended nobody.  “Then you’ll know your own mind.  When is it to be?”

“The end of February—­after the election.”

“Two months,” mused Mary.

“Time enough to throw it all up in, you think?” said Marcella, recklessly, putting on her gloves for departure.  “Perhaps you’ll be pleased to hear that I am going to a meeting of Mr. Raeburn’s next week?”

“I am glad.  You ought to go to them all.”

“Really, Mary!  How am I to lift you out of this squaw theory of matrimony?  Allow me to inform you that the following evening I am going to one of Mr. Wharton’s—­here in the schoolroom!”

She enjoyed her friend’s disapproval.

“By yourself, Marcella?  It isn’t seemly!”

“I shall take a maid.  Mr. Wharton is going to tell us how the people can—­get the land, and how, when they have got it, all the money that used to go in rent will go in taking off taxes and making life comfortable for the poor.”  She looked at Mary with a teasing smile.