"And did you know it, Mary?" asked her father, as he saw the flushed face on which blushes had fixed a colour that made his daughter look as if she were painted.

"Yes, papa," she replied, "if you remember I took Freddy to school in the winter, because mamma was not well enough to go herself."

Mrs. Armstrong saw the gathering clouds on her husband's brow, and turning to her boys, she said--

"Freddy, go up to the nursery, or into the garden, with your brothers for half an hour. I will send Morris for you when it is time for bed."

The boys obeyed, and Mary also rose to go, but her father stopped her.

"Sit down, Mary. I want to know why I have been kept in ignorance about these school people. Why did you and your mother hide the fact from me?"

"I did not hide it, papa. I thought you knew from Mr. Drummond who these gentlemen were. Why should I wish to conceal their names from you? I knew nothing of them except as schoolmasters until I went to Oxford."

"And how often have you met this young schoolmaster?" asked her father, with suppressed anger.

"Once when I took Freddy to school, and a second time when I dined with him at Mr. Drummond's. Until I met him at Oxford with his friend Charles Herbert he was a comparative stranger to me."

"And you met him there often?" said her father, his tones slightly softened by finding this schoolmaster a friend of his nephew Charles.

"Every day."

"Alone?"

"Once, by accident."

"And then he made love to you, I suppose."

"Papa!" There was a mixture of sorrow, distress, anger, and indignation in the tone in which Mary Armstrong repeated this word.

And then her memory recalled the words Henry Halford had uttered, the pressure of the hand, the inquiry whether he was forgiven. Was all this making love? Perhaps it was--perhaps he wished by speaking and acting as he did, to show her that he loved her. So tender was the young girl's conscience that she was about to tell her father all that had pa.s.sed rather than feel conscious of having unwittingly deceived him. His angry words checked her.

"Well for you that this poverty-stricken schoolmaster has not dared to make love to my daughter. Going to be a parson, is he? and wants her money to make up the deficiency of a curate's pittance. No, no, Mary, no such half-starved husbands for you; and if you ever dare to marry without my consent, not a penny of money shall you have, even to save you from the workhouse!"

He rose as he spoke, his utterance inarticulate, and his features distorted with rage; then he left the room, banging the door after him.

Mrs. Armstrong leaned back in her chair, pale even to the lips; Mary had risen in terror when her father left the room; she now hastened to her mother, and leading her to the drawing-room, placed her in an easy-chair, and then fetched her a gla.s.s of wine. The calm and loving attention of her daughter restored quietness to her nerves, and then Mary knelt at her feet, and burying her face in the folds of her dress, she said--

"Mamma, I am afraid I have not been quite truthful in what I said this evening. Mamma, I have wanted to speak to you about something ever since I came back from Oxford; but I did not know how to begin, and I must now. If--if a gentleman tells you he should be too happy to attend to your every wish for his whole life, if he could only dare to hope such a thing were possible, is that making love?"

Mrs. Armstrong smiled, even in the midst of her fears; but as Mary did not raise her head, she said--

"Well, my dear, it depends. Many men would make such a remark merely as a compliment; but has any gentleman said this to you?"

"Yes, mamma."

"What gentleman, Mary?" How the mother dreaded the answer which she already guessed! It came at last, clear and distinct, for Mary raised her head to speak, but she did not look up.

"Mr. Henry Halford."

"Did you see much of him at Oxford, Mary?"

"Yes, mamma, he dined with uncle and aunt at the hotel several times, and they liked him very much."

"Was he very attentive to you?"

"No, mamma, not more than to other ladies."

"Did you walk out often alone?"

"Never but once, and that occurred because he went back to fetch a book for me, and the rest got a long way before us."

"Did nothing more pa.s.s between you?"

"Not much; when we were getting near the hotel he asked me to forgive what he had said and forget it."

"And what was your reply to this?"

"Mamma, I told him there was nothing to forgive."

"Then of course he understands that you would like him to attend to your every wish for your whole life--is that it, Mary?"

"Yes, mamma," in smothered tones.

"But you say this Mr. Henry Halford did not pay you more attentions than to other ladies. What has made my daughter so easily won?"

"O mamma!" and Mary raised her head now and looked fearlessly at her mother, "Mr. Henry Halford has not tried to win me. I should have told papa at once if he had asked me to be his wife; and I hope he wont now, for I am sure I should learn to love him if he did. I suppose it is not right to marry people who have no money, but, mamma, I could not marry any man, if he were the richest in the world, unless he were as clever and intellectual as Henry Halford, and I'm sure that's not very likely."

Mrs. Armstrong sighed. There was no doubt now as the state of her daughter's affections, or how it would end!

The appearance of the boys at the drawing-room window, and the sound of Mr. Armstrong's footsteps, roused mother and daughter. Mary, however, had scarcely reached the door, for she felt unable to meet him, when her father entered, and, as she tried to pa.s.s, caught her in his arms and kissed her fondly. Then he advanced to his wife and apologised for his roughness.

"You know, Maria dearest," he said, "that I am only anxious to prevent your clever and accomplished daughter from making an unsuitable marriage."

"I know it, Edward," replied his wife; "but we must be careful not to make her unhappy for life, as I should have been had _my_ friends objected to _you_."

Mr. Armstrong made no reply. He knew too well the truth of his wife's remark, and exerted himself through the evening to make Mary forget his angry words. She appreciated and understood the effort, but he could see by her swollen eyelids how much he had wounded and pained his. .h.i.therto dutiful daughter.

CHAPTER XIX.

HENRY HALFORD WRITES A LETTER.

When Mr. Henry Halford parted from Mr. Armstrong and his family at the gates of Lime Grove, he felt as if walking on air. After such a kind reception and cordial invitation from the father of Mary Armstrong, there could be nothing to fear of disappointment.

He reached home in a very short s.p.a.ce of time, and looked so bright and joyous as he met his mother in the hall, that she said to him, "Why, Henry, you appear as if you had heard good news; where have you been?"