What was he to say to Mary? He walked very slowly, down the Greshamsbury avenue with his hands clasped behind his back, thinking over the whole matter; thinking of it, or rather trying to think of it. When a man's heart is warmly concerned in any matter, it is almost useless for him to endeavour to think of it. Instead of thinking, he gives play to his feelings, and feeds his passion by indulging it.
'Allurements!' he said to himself, repeating Lady Arabella's words. 'A girl circumstanced like my niece! How utterly incapable is such a woman as that to understand the mind, and the heart, and soul of such a one as Mary Thorne!' And then his thoughts recurred to Frank. 'It has been ill done of him; ill done of him: young as he is, he should have had feeling enough to spared me this. A thoughtless word has been spoken which will now make her miserable!' And then, as he walked on, he could not divest his mind of the remembrance of what had passed between him and Sir Roger. What, if after all, Mary should become the heiress to all that money? What, if she should become, in fact, the owner of Greshamsbury? for, indeed it seemed too possible that Sir Roger's heir would be the owner of Greshamsbury.
The idea was one which he disliked to entertain, but it would recur to him again and again. It might be, that a marriage between his niece and the nominal heir to the estate might be of all the matches the best for young Gresham to make. How sweet would be the revenge, how glorious the retaliation on Lady Arabella, if, after what had now been said, it should come to pass that all the difficulties of Greshamsbury should be made smooth by Mary's love, and Mary's hand! It was a dangerous subject on which to ponder. And, as he sauntered down the road, the doctor did his best to banish it from his mind--not altogether successfully.
But as he went he again encountered Beatrice. 'Tell Mary I went up to her to-day,' said she, 'and that I expect her up here to-morrow. If she does not come here, I shall be savage.'
'Do not be savage,' said he, putting out his hand, 'even though she should not come.'
Beatrice immediately saw that his manner with her was not playful, and that his face was serious. 'I was only in joke,' said she; 'of course I was only joking. But is anything the matter? Is Mary ill?'
'Oh, no; not ill at all; but she will not be here to-morrow, nor probably for some time. But, Miss Gresham, you must not be savage with her.'
Beatrice tried to interrogate him, but he would not wait to answer her questions. While she was speaking he bowed to her in his usual old-fashioned courteous way, and passed on out of hearing. 'She will not come up for some time,' said Beatrice to herself. 'Then mamma must have quarrelled with her.' And at once in her heart she acquitted her friend of all blame in the matter, whatever it might be, and condemned her mother unheard.
The doctor, when he arrived in his own house, had in nowise made up his mind as to the manner in which he would break the matter to Mary; but by the time that he had reached the drawing-room, he had made up his mind to this, that he would put off the evil hour till the morrow. He would sleep on the matter--lie awake on it, more probably--and then at breakfast, as best he could, tell her what had been said of her.
Mary that evening was more than usually inclined to be playful. She had not been quite certain till the morning, whether Frank had absolutely left Greshamsbury, and had, therefore, preferred the company of Miss Oriel to going up to the house. There was a peculiar cheerfulness about her friend Patience, a feeling of satisfaction with the world and those in it, which Mary always shared with her; and now she had brought home to the doctor's fireside, in spite of her young troubles, a smiling face, if not a heart altogether happy.
'Uncle,' she said at last, 'what makes you so sombre? Shall I read to you?'
'No; not to-night, dearest.'
'Why, uncle; what is the matter?'
'Nothing, nothing.'
'Ah, but it is something, and you shall tell me;' getting up, she came over to his arm-chair, and leant over his shoulder.
He looked up at her for a minute in silence, and then, getting up from his chair, passed his arm round her waist, and pressed her closely to his heart.
'My darling!' he said, almost convulsively. 'My best own, truest darling!' and Mary looked up into his face, saw that big tears were running down his cheeks.
But still he told her nothing that night.
