’And Mary, you know, I shall be able to see you as often as I like;—­you and Dr Thorne, too, when I have a house of my own.’

Mary said nothing, but essayed to smile.  It was but a ghastly attempt.

‘You know how happy that will make me,’ continued Beatrice.  ’Of course mamma won’t expect me to be led by her then; if he likes it, there can be no objection; and he will like it, you may be sure of that.’

‘You are very kind, Trichy,’ said Mary; but she spoke in a tone very different from that she would have used eighteen months ago.

‘Why, what is the matter, Mary?  Shan’t you be glad to come and see us?’

’I do not know, dearest; that must depend on circumstances.  To see you, you yourself, your own dear, sweet, loving face must always be pleasant to me.’

‘And shan’t you be glad to see him?’

‘Yes, certainly, if he loves you.’

‘Of course he loves me.’

’All that alone would be pleasant enough, Trichy.  But what if there should be circumstances which should still make us enemies; should make your friends and my friends—­friend, I should say, for I have only one—­should make them opposed to each other?’

‘Circumstances!  What circumstances?’

‘You are going to be married, Trichy, to the man you love; are you not?’

‘Indeed I am!’

‘And it is not pleasant? is it not a happy feeling?’

’Pleasant! happy! yes, very pleasant; very happy.  But, Mary, I am not at all in such a hurry as he is,’ said Beatrice, naturally thinking of her own little affairs.

‘And, suppose I should wish to be married to the man that I love?’ Mary said this slowly and gravely, and as she spoke she looked her friend full in the face.

Beatrice was somewhat astonished, and for the moment hardly understood.  ‘I am sure I hope you will some day.’

’No, Trichy; no, you hope the other way.  I love your brother; I love Frank Gresham; I love him quite as well, quite as warmly, as you love Caleb Oriel.’

‘Do you?’ said Beatrice, staring with all her eyes, and giving one long sigh, as this new subject for sorrow was so distinctly put before her.

‘It that so odd?’ said Mary.  ’You love Mr Oriel, though you have been intimate with him hardly more than two years.  Is it so odd that I should love your brother, whom I have known almost all my life?’

’But, Mary, I thought it was always understood between us that—­that—­I mean that you were not to care about him; not in the way of loving him, you know—­I thought you always said so—­I have always told mamma so as if it came from yourself.’

’Beatrice, do not tell anything to Lady Arabella as though it came from me; I do not want anything to be told to her, either of me or from me.  Say what you like to me yourself; whatever you say will not anger me.  Indeed, I know what you would say—­and yet I love you.  Oh, I love you, Trichy—­Trichy, I do love you so much!  Don’t turn away from me!’