‘That will never be, whatever woman he chooses will—­’ She could not go on, but presently cleared her voice—­’No; I should like to leave him quite free.  I was less his choice than his father’s; and, though I thought we should have been very happy, it does not seem to be the leading of Heaven.  I am so far his inferior in cleverness, and everything attractive, and have been made so like his elder sister, that it might not have been best for him.  I want him to feel that, in beginning afresh, he is doing me no injury; and then in time, whenever I come home, it may be such a friendship as there was between our elders.  That is what I try to look forward to,—­no, I don’t think I look forward to anything.  Good night, Aunt Melicent —­I am so glad you like him!’

In this mind Mary met Lord Ormersfield.  The delay had been an advantage, for he was less irritated, and she had regained self-possession.  Her passage had been taken, and this was an argument that told on the Earl, though he refused to call it irrevocable.  He found that there was no staggering her on the score of the life that awaited her; she knew more on that subject than he did, had confidence in her father, and no dread of Rosita; and she was too much ashamed and grieved at the former effect of his persuasions to attend to any more of a like description.  He found her sense of duty more stubborn than he had anticipated, and soon had no more to say.  She might carry it too far; but the principle was sound, and a father could not well controvert it.  He had designed the rupture with Louis as a penalty to drive her into his measures; but he could not so propound it, and was wondering how to bring it in, when Mary relieved him by beginning herself, and stating the grounds with such sensible, unselfish, almost motherly care of Louis’s happiness, that he was more unwilling than ever to let him resign her, and was on the point of begging her to re-consider, and let Louis wait for ever rather than lose her.  But he knew they ought not to be bound, under such uncertainties, and his conviction was too strong to give way to emotion.  He thanked her, and praised her with unwonted agitation, and regretted more than ever; and so they closed the conference by deciding that, unless Mr. Ponsonby should be induced to relent by his daughter’s representations on her arrival, Mary and Louis must consider themselves as mutually released.

That loophole—­forlorn, most forlorn hope, as they knew it to be—­was an infinite solace to the young people, by sparing them a formal parting, and permitting them still to feel that they belonged to each other.  If he began declaring that nothing would ever make him feel disconnected with Mary, he was told that it was not time to think of that, and they must not waste their time.  And once Mary reminded him how much worse it would be if they had been separated by a quarrel.  ‘Anger might give one spirits,’ he said, smiling mournfully.