Gradually he looked up into her face, still keeping her hand
pressed on the desk under his. It was his left hand that so guarded
her, while she stood by his right shoulder. Then he gently wound
his right arm round her waist and pressed her to him. "Mary," he
said, "if it is so, had you not better tell me?" But she was sure
that she had better not mention that name even to him. It was
impossible that she should mention it. She would have outraged to
herself her own maiden modesty by doing so. "Is it,"--he asked very
softly,--"is it Surtees?"
"Oh no!" she said quickly, almost escaping from the grasp of his
arm in her start.
Then he was absolutely at a loss. Beyond Mr. Surtees or Larry
Twentyman he did not know what possible lover Dillsborough could
have afforded. And yet the very rapidity of her answer when the
curate's name had been mentioned had convinced him that there was
some other person,--had increased the strength of that conviction
which her silence had produced. "Have you nothing that you can tell
me, Mary?"
"No, papa." Then he gave her back the letter and she left the room
without another word. Of course his sanction to the letter had now
been given, and it was addressed to Chowton Farm and posted before
half an hour was over. She saw him again in the afternoon of the
same day and asked him to tell her stepmother what she had done.
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