But though she could not restrain these thoughts, it never for a moment occurred to her to take Frank’s offer in earnest.  Though she was a grown woman, he was still a boy.  He would have to see the world before he settled in it, and would change his mind about woman half a score of times before he married.  Then, too, though she did not like the Lady Arabella, she felt that she owed something, if not to her kindness, at least to her forbearance; and she knew, felt inwardly certain, that she would be doing wrong, that the world would say that she was doing wrong, that her uncle would think her wrong, if she endeavoured to take advantage of what had passed.

She had not for an instant doubted; not for a moment had she contemplated it as possible that she should ever become Mrs Gresham because Frank had offered to make her so; but, nevertheless, she could not help thinking of what had occurred—­of thinking of it, most probably much more than Frank did himself.

A day or two afterwards, on the evening before Frank’s birthday, she was alone with her uncle, walking in the garden behind their house, and she then essayed to question him, with the object of learning if she were fitted by her birth to be the wife of such a one as Frank Gresham.  They were in the habit of walking there together when he happened to be at home of a summer’s evening.  This was not often the case, for his hours of labour extended much beyond those usual to the upper working world, the hours, namely, between breakfast and dinner; but those minutes that they did thus pass together, the doctor regarded as perhaps the pleasantest of his life.

‘Uncle,’ said she, after a while, ’what do you think of this marriage of Miss Gresham’s?’

’Well, Minnie’—­such was his name of endearment for her—­’I can’t say I have thought much about it, and I don’t suppose anybody else has either.’

‘She must think about it, of course; and so must he, I suppose.’

’I’m not so sure of that.  Some folks would never get married if they had to trouble themselves with thinking about it.’

‘I suppose that’s why you never got married, uncle?’

‘Either that, or thinking of it too much.  One is as bad as the other.’

‘Well, I have been thinking about it, at any rate, uncle.’

’That’s very good of you; that will save me the trouble; and perhaps save Miss Gresham too.  If you have thought it over thoroughly, that will do for all.’

‘I believe Mr Moffat is a man of no family.’

‘He’ll mend in that point, no doubt, when he has got a wife.’

‘Uncle, you’re a goose; and what is worse, a very provoking goose.’

’Niece, you’re a gander; and what is worse, a very silly gander.  What is Mr Moffat’s family to you, and me?  Mr Moffat has that which ranks above family honours.  He is a very rich man.’

‘Yes,’ said Mary, ’I know he is rich; and a rich man I suppose can buy anything—­except a woman that is worth having.’