’On what then are you to live?  You are too old for love in a cottage, I suppose?’

‘Not at all too old; Frank, you know is “still quite a boy".’

Impudent hussy! forward, ill-conditioned saucy minx! such were the epithets which rose to Lady Arabella’s mind; but she politely suppressed them.

’Miss Thorne, this subject is of course to me very serious; very ill-adapted for jesting.  I look upon such a marriage as absolutely impossible.’

‘I do not know what you mean by impossible, Lady Arabella.’

’I mean, in the first place, that you two could not get yourselves married.’

’Oh, yes; Mr Oriel would manage that for us.  We are his parishioners, and he would be bound to do it.’

’I beg your pardon; I believe that under all the circumstances it would be illegal.’

Mary smiled; but she said nothing.  ’You may laugh, Miss Thorne, but I think you will find that I am right.  There are still laws to prevent such fearful distress as would be brought about by such a marriage.’

‘I hope that nothing I shall do will bring distress on the family.’

’Ah, but it would; don’t you know that it would?  Think of it, Miss Thorne.  Think of Frank’s state, and of his father’s state.  You know enough of that, I am sure, to be well aware that Frank is not in a condition to marry without money.  Think of the position which Mr Gresham’s only son should hold in the county; think of the old name, and the pride we have in it; you have lived among us enough to understand all this; think of these things, and then say whether it is possible that such a marriage should take place without family distress of the deepest kind.  Think of Mr Gresham; if you truly love my son, you could not wish to bring on him all this misery and ruin.’

Mary now was touched, for there was truth in what Lady Arabella said.  But she had no power of going back; her troth was plighted, and nothing any human being could say should take her from it.  If he, indeed, chose to repent, that would be another thing.

‘Lady Arabella,’ she said, ’I have nothing to say in favour of this engagement, except that he wishes it.’

‘And is this a reason, Mary?’

’To me it is; not only a reason, but a law.  I have given him my promise.’

‘And you will keep your promise even to his own ruin?’

’I hope not.  Our engagement, unless he shall choose to break it off, must necessarily be a long one; but the time will come—­’

‘What! when Mr Gresham is dead?’

‘Before that, I hope.’

’There is no probability of it.  And because he is headstrong, you, who have always had credit for so much sense, will hold him to this mad engagement?’

’No, Lady Arabella; I will not hold him to anything to which he does not wish to be held.  Nothing that you can say shall move me:  nothing that anybody can say shall induce me to break my promise to him.  But a word from himself will do it.  One look will be sufficient.  Let him give me to understand, in any way, that his love for me is injurious to him—­that he has learnt to think so—­and then I will renounce my part in this engagement as quickly as you could wish it.’