Then gradually there came confidences,—­and at last absolute confidence.  The whole story of Mr Tregear was told.  Yes; she loved Mr Tregear.  She had given him her heart, and had told him so.

‘Then, my dear, your father ought to know about it,’ said Mrs Finn.

‘No; not yet.  Mamma knew it.’

‘Did she know all that you have told me?’

’Yes; all.  And Mr Tregear spoke to her, and she said that papa ought not to be told quite yet.’  Mrs Finn could not but remember that the friend she had lost was not, among women, the one best able to give a girl good counsel in such a crisis.

‘Why not yet, dear?’

’Well, because-.  It is very hard to explain.  In the first place, because Mr Tregear himself does not wish it.’

‘That is a very bad reason; the worst in the world.’

’Of course you will say so.  Of course everybody would say so.  But when there is one person whom one loves better than all the rest, for whom one would be ready to die, to whom one is determined that everything shall be devoted, surely the wishes of the person so dear as that ought to have weight.’

’Not in persuading you to do that which is acknowledged to be wrong.’

‘What wrong?  I am going to do nothing wrong.’

’The very concealment of your love is wrong, after that love has been not only given but declared.  A girl’s position in such matters is so delicate, especially that of such a girl as you!’

‘I know all about that,’ said Lady Mary, with something almost like scorn in her tone.  ’Of course I have to be—­delicate.  I don’t quite know what the word means.  I am not ashamed of being in love with Mr Tregear.  He is a gentleman, highly educated, very clever, of an old family,—­older, I believe, than papa’s.  And he is manly and handsome; just what a man should be.  Only he is not rich.’

’If he be all that you say, ought you not to trust your papa?  If he approve of it, he should give you money.’

’Of course he must be told; but not now.  He is nearly broken-hearted about dear mamma.  He could not bring himself to care about anything of that kind at present.  And then it is Mr Tregear that should speak to him first.’

‘Not now, Mary.’

‘How do you mean not now?’

‘If you had a mother you would talk to her about it.’

‘Mamma knew.’

‘If she were still living she would tell your father.’

’But she didn’t tell him, though she did know.  She didn’t mean to tell him quite yet.  She wanted to see Mr Tregear here in England first.  Of course I shall do nothing till papa does know.’

‘You will not see him?’

’How can I see him here?  He will not come here, if you mean that.’

‘You do not correspond with him?’ Here for the first time the girl blushed.  ’Oh, Mary! if you are writing to him your father ought to know it.’

’I have not written to him; but when he heard how ill poor mamma was, then he wrote to me—­twice.  You may see his letters.  It is all about her.  No one worshiped mamma as he did.’