Sitting there late into the night Mary
told it all as well as she knew how,--all of it except in regard to
any spark of love which might have fallen upon her in respect of
Reginald Morton. Of Reginald Morton in her story of course she did
not speak; but all the rest she declared. She did not love the man.
She was quite sure of that. Though she thought so well of him there
was, she was quite sure, no feeling in her heart akin to love. She
had promised to take time because she had thought that she might
perhaps be able to bring herself to marry him without loving him,--
to marry him because her father wished it, and because her going
from home would be a relief to her stepmother and sisters, because
it would be well for them all that she should be settled out of the
way. But since that she had made up her mind,--she thought that she
had quite made up her mind,--that it would be impossible.
"There is nobody else, Mary?" said Lady Ushant putting her hand on
to Mary's lap. Mary protested that there was nobody else without
any consciousness that she was telling a falsehood. "And you are
quite sure that you cannot do it?"
"Do you think that I ought, Lady Ushant?"
"I should be very sorry to say that, my dear. A young woman in such
a matter must be governed by her feelings. Only he seems to be a
deserving young man!" Mary looked askance at her friend,
remembering at the moment Reginald Morton's assurance that his aunt
would have disapproved of such an engagement.
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