They were now standing on the middle of the lawn, and Mary had assumed a look which intended to signify that she expected him to go. He knew the place well enough to get his own horse, or to order the groom to get it for him. But instead of that, he stood his ground, and now declared his purpose.
"To see me, Lord Carstairs!"
"Yes, Miss Wortle. And if the Doctor had been here, or your mother, I should have told them."
"Have told them what?" she asked. She knew; she felt sure that she knew; and yet she could not refrain from the question.
"I have come here to ask if you can love me."
It was a most decided way of declaring his purpose, and one which made Mary feel that a great difficulty was at once thrown upon her. She really did not know whether she could love him or not. Why shouldn't she have been able to love him? Was it not natural enough that she should be able? But she knew that she ought not to love him, whether able or not. There were various reasons which were apparent enough to her though it might be very difficult to make him see them. He was little more than a boy, and had not yet finished his education. His father and mother would not expect him to fall in love, at any rate till he had taken his degree. And they certainly would not expect him to fall in love with the daughter of his tutor. She had an idea that, circumstanced as she was, she was bound by loyalty both to her own father and to the lad's father not to be able to love him. She thought that she would find it easy enough to say that she did not love him; but that was not the question. As for being able to love him,—she could not answer that at all.
"Lord Carstairs," she said, severely, "you ought not to have come here when papa and mamma are away."
"I didn't know they were away. I expected to find them here."
"But they ain't. And you ought to go away."
"Is that all you can say to me?"