’Oh, mamma! he has been doing it again.  I did not mean to have told you—­’ said Mary, the strong will to be calm forcing back the tears and even the flush.

’Nay, dear child, nothing can hurt me now.  You must let me share all with you to the last.  What did you say to him?’

‘I told him that I could not think of such things now,’ said Mary, almost indignantly.

‘And he?’

’He begged my pardon, and said he only did it because he thought it might be a relief to you.’

’Only; did he say ‘only?’

‘I am not sure.  At least,’ she added, with a deep sigh, ’I thought he meant only—­’

‘And you, my dearest, if you had not thought he meant only?’

‘Don’t ask me, mamma; I cannot think about it!’

‘Mary, dearest, I do wish to understand you.’

‘Is it of any use for me to ask myself?’ said Mary.

’I think it is.  I do not say that there might not be insuperable obstacles; but I believe we ought to know whether you are still indifferent to Louis.’

‘Oh, that I never was!  Nobody could be!’

‘You know what I mean,’ said her mother, slightly smiling.

‘Mamma, I don’t know what to say,’ replied Mary, after a pause.  ’I had thought it wrong to let my thoughts take that course; but when he spoke in his own soft, gentle voice, I felt, and I can’t help it, that—­he—­could—­comfort—­me—­better—­than—­any one.’

Not hesitating, but slowly, almost inaudibly, she brought out the words; and, as the tears gushed out irrepressibly with the last, she hastened from the room, and was seen no more till she had recovered composure, and seemed to have dismissed the subject.

Louis kept this second attempt a secret; he was not quite sure how he felt, and did not wish to discuss his rejection.  At breakfast, he received a note from Mrs. Ponsonby, begging him to come to the Terrace at three o’clock; and the hope thus revived made him more conversational than he had been all the former day.

He found that Mary was out walking, and he was at once conducted to Mrs. Ponsonby’s room, where he looked exceedingly rosy and confused, till she began by holding out her hand, and saying, ’I wish to thank you.’

‘I am afraid I vexed Mary,’ said Louis, with more than his usual simplicity; ’but do you think there is no hope?  I knew it was a bad time, but I thought it might make you more at ease on her account.’

‘You meant all that was most kind.’

‘I thought I might just try,’ pursued he, disconsolately, ’whether she did think me any steadier.  I hope she did not think me very troublesome.  I tried not to harass her much.’

’My dear Louis, it is not a question of what you call steadiness.  It is the old story of last summer, when you thought us old ones so much more romantic than yourself.’

‘You are thinking of Miss Conway,’ said Louis, blushing, but with curious naivete.  ’Well, I have been thinking of that, and I really do not believe there was anything in it.  I did make myself rather a fool at Beauchastel, and Jem would have made me a greater one; but you know my father put a stop to it.  Thinking her handsomer than other people can’t be love, can it?’