had often ridiculed him because he could only live among figures and official details; but to her had not been given the power of looking into a man’s heart and feeling all that was there.  Yes;—­in such bargaining for a wife, in such bargaining for a husband, there could be nothing of the tremulous delicacy of feminine romance; but it would be better than standing at a stall in the market till the sufficient purchaser should come.  It never occurred to him that the delicacy, the innocence, the romance, the bloom might all be preserved if he would give his girl to the man whom she said she loved.  Could he have modeled her future course according to his own wishes, he would have had her live a gentle life for the next three years, with a pencil perhaps in her hand or a music-book before her;—­and then come forth, cleaned as it were by such quarantine from the impurity to which she had been subjected.

When he was back at Matching he at once told his daughter what he had arranged for her, and then there took place a prolonged discussion both as to his view of her future life and as to her own.  ‘You did tell her then about Mr Tregear?’ she asked.

‘As she is to have charge of you for a time I thought it best.’

‘Perhaps it is.  Perhaps—­you were afraid.’

’No; I was not afraid, he said angrily.

’You need not be afraid.  I shall do nothing elsewhere that I would not do here, and nothing anywhere without telling you.’

‘I know that I can trust you.’

‘But, papa, I shall always intend to marry Mr Tregear.’

‘No!’ he exclaimed.

’Yes;—­always.  I want you to understand exactly how it is.  Nothing you can do can separate me from him.’

‘Mary, that is very wicked.’

’It cannot be wicked to tell the truth, papa.  I mean to try to do all you tell me.  I shall not see him, or write to him,—­unless there should be some very particular reason.  And if I did see him, or write to him I would tell you.  And of course I should not think of—­of marrying without your leave.  But I shall expect you to let me marry him.’

‘Never!’

‘Then I shall think you are—­cruel; and you will break my heart.’

‘You should not call your father cruel.’

‘I hope you will not be cruel.’

’I can never permit you to marry this man.  It would be altogether improper.  I cannot allow you to say that I am cruel because I do what I feel to be my duty.  You will see other people.’

‘A great many perhaps.’

‘And will learn to,—­to,—­to forget him.’

’Never!  I will not forget him.  I should hate myself if I thought it possible.  What would love be worth if it could be forgotten in that way?’ As he heard this he reflected whether his own wife, this girl’s mother, had ever forgotten her early love for that Burgo Fitzgerald whom in her girlhood she had wished to marry.

When he was leaving her she called him back again.  ’There is one other thing I think I ought to say, papa.  If Lady Cantrip speaks to me about Mr Tregear, I can only tell her what I have told you.  I shall never give him up.’  When he heard this he turned angrily from her, almost stamping his foot upon the ground, when she quietly left the room.