‘We will each keep our secret,’ said Mary.  ’Only remember this:  should Frank marry to-morrow, I shall have no ground for blaming him.  He is free as far I as am concerned.  He can take the London lady if he likes.  You may tell him so from me.  But, Trichy, what else I have told you, I have told you only.’

‘Oh, yes!’ said Beatrice, sadly; ’I shall say nothing of it to anybody.  It is very sad, very, very; I was so happy when I came here, and now I am so wretched.’  This was the end of that delicious talk to which she had looked forward with so much eagerness.

’Don’t be wretched about me, dearest; I shall get through it.  I sometimes think I was born to be unhappy, and that unhappiness agrees with me best.  Kiss me now, Trichy, and don’t be wretched any more.  You owe it to Mr Oriel to be as happy as the day is long.’

And then they parted.

Beatrice, as she went out, saw Dr Thorne in his little shop on the right-hand side of the passage deeply engaged in some derogatory branch of an apothecary’s mechanical trade; mixing a dose, perhaps, for a little child.  She would have passed him without speaking, if she could have been sure of doing so without notice, for her heart was full, and her eyes were red with tears; but it was so long since she had been in his house that she was more than ordinarily anxious not to appear uncourteous or unkind to him.

‘Good morning, doctor,’ she said, changing her countenance as best she might, and attempting a smile.

‘Ah, my fairy!’ said he, leaving his villainous compounds, and coming out to her; ‘and you, too, are about to become a steady old lady.’

’Indeed, I am not, doctor; I don’t mean to be either steady or old, for the next ten years.  But who has told you?  I suppose Mary has been a traitor.’

’Well, I will confess Mary was the traitor.  But hadn’t I a right to be told, seeing how often I have brought you sugar-plums in my pocket?  But I wish you joy with all my heart—­with all my heart.  Oriel is an excellent, good fellow.’

‘Is he not, doctor?’

’An excellent, good fellow.  I never heard but of one fault that he had.’

‘What was that one fault, Doctor Thorne?’

’He thought that clergymen should not marry.  But you have cured that, and now he’s perfect.’

’Thank you, doctor.  I declare that you say the prettiest things of all my friends.’

’And none of your friends wish prettier things for you.  I do congratulate you, Beatrice, and hope you may be happy with the man you have chosen;’ and taking both her hands in his, he pressed them warmly, and bade God bless her.

’Oh, doctor!  I do so hope the time will come when we shall all be friends again.’

’I hope it as well, my dear.  But let it come, or let it not come, my regard for you will be the same:’  and then she parted from him also, and went her way.

Nothing was spoken of that evening between Dr Thorne and his niece excepting Beatrice’s future happiness; nothing, at least, having reference to what had passed that morning.  But on the following morning, circumstances led to Frank Gresham’s name being mentioned.