‘Shall I go and speak to him, my dear?’

‘Perhaps I had better, if you will come with me.’

Then, hesitating—­’I will go to my room for a moment, and then I shall be able to do it more steadily.’

Mrs. Ponsonby’s thoughts were anxious during the five minutes of Mary’s absence; but she returned composed, according to her promise, whatever might be the throbbings beneath.  As Mrs. Ponsonby opened the door, she saw Louis and his aunt together, and was almost amused at their conscious start, the youthful speed with which the one darted into the further end of the corridor, and the undignified haste with which the other hopped down stairs.

By the time they reached the drawing-room, he had recovered himself so as to come forward in a very suitable, simple manner, and Mary said, at once, ’Louis, thank you; but we think it would be better not—­’

‘Not!’ exclaimed Fitzjocelyn.

‘Not,’ repeated Mary; ’I do not think there is that between us which would make it right.’

‘There would be!’ cried Louis, gaining ardour by the difficulty, ’if you would only try.  Mrs. Ponsonby, tell her we would make her happy.’

‘You would try,’ said Mrs. Ponsonby, kindly; ’but I think she is right.  Indeed, Louis, you must forgive me for saying that you are hardly old enough to make up your mind—­’

‘Madison is younger,’ said Louis, boyishly enough to make her smile, but earnestly proceeding, ’Won’t you try me?  Will you not say that if I can be steady and persevering—­’

‘No,’ said Mrs. Ponsonby; ’it would not be fair towards either of you to make any conditions.’

’But if without them, I should do better—­Mary, will you say nothing?’

‘We had better not think of it,’ said Mary, her eyes on the ground.

‘Why? is it that I am too foolish, too unworthy?’

She made a great effort.  ’Not that, Louis.  Do not ask any more; it is better not; you have done as your father wished—­now let us be as we were before.’

‘My father will be very much disappointed,’ said Louis, with chagrin.

‘I will take care of your father,’ said Mrs. Ponsonby, and as Mary took the moment for escaping, she proceeded to say some affectionate words of her own tender feeling towards Louis; to which he only replied by saying, sadly, and with some mortification, ’Never mind; I know it is quite right.  I am not worthy of her.’

’That is not the point; but I do not think you understand your own feelings, or how far you were actuated by the wish to gratify your father.’

‘I assure you,’ cried Louis, ’you do not guess how I look up to Mary; her unfailing kindness, her entering into all my nonsense—­her firm, sound judgment, that would keep me right—­and all she did for me when I was laid up.  Oh! why cannot you believe how dear she is to me?’

‘How dear is just what I do believe; but still this is not enough.’