He went down stairs, and out of the house, and took his horse from the inn stables, without one word to any one.  The ostlers said to each other that the young Lord was in great trouble about the lady at the Terrace.

Mary came home; and if she knew why that long walk had been urged on her, she gave no sign.  She saw her mother worn and tired, and she restrained all perception that she was conscious that there had been agitation.  She spoke quietly of the spring flowers that she had seen, and of the people whom she had met; she gave her mother her tea, and moved about with almost an increase of the studied quietness of the sick-room.  Only, when Mrs. Frost came in for an hour, Mary drew back into a corner with her knitting, and did not speak.

‘Mary,’ said her mother, when she came back from lighting her aunt down stairs, ‘come to me, my child.’

Mary came, and her mother took both her hands.  They were chilly; and there was a little pulse on Mary’s temple that visibly throbbed, and almost seemed to leap, with fearful rapidity.

’Dear child, I had no power to talk before, or I would not have kept you in suspense.  I am afraid it will not do.’

‘I was sure of it,’ said Mary, almost in a whisper.  ’Dear mamma, you should not have vexed and tired yourself.’

‘I comforted myself,’ said Mrs. Ponsonby; ’I said things to him that I had longed to say, and how beautifully he took them!  But I could not feel that he knew what he was about much better than he did the first time.’

‘It would not be right,’ said Mary, in her old tone.

’I think your father might have been persuaded.  I would have written, and done my utmost—­’

‘Oh, mamma, anything rather than you should have that worry!’

’And I think things will be different—­he is softened, and will be more so.  But it is foolish to talk in this way, and it may be well that the trial should not be made; though that was not the reason I answered Louis as I did.’

‘I suppose it will be Miss Conway,’ said Mary, trying to smile.

’At least, it ought to be no one else till he has seen enough of her to form a judgment without the charm of prohibition; and this he may do without committing himself, as they are so nearly connected.  I must ask his father to give him distinct permission, and then I shall have done with these things.’

Mary would not break the silence, nor recall her to earthly interests; but she returned to the subject, saying, wistfully, ’Can you tell me that you are content, dear child?’

‘Quite content, thank you, mamma—­I am certain it is right,’ said Mary.  ’It would be taking a wrong advantage of his compassion.  I fall too far short of what would be wanted to make him happy.’

She spoke firmly, but her eyes were full of tears.  Her mother felt as if no one could fail of happiness with Mary, but, controlling the impulse, said, ’It is best, dearest; for you could not bear to feel yourself unable to make him happy, or to fancy he might have more peace without you.  My dear, your prospect is not all I could have wished or planned, but this would be too cruel.’