"I do not think that I shall be angry with you; but what is it, dearest?"
But she did not know how to find words to declare her purpose. It was comparatively an easy task to tell Mrs. Orme that she had made up her mind not to marry Sir Peregrine, but it was by no means easy to tell the baronet himself. And now she stood there leaning over the fireplace, with his arm round her waist,—as it behoved her to stand no longer, seeing the resolution to which she had come. But still she did not speak.
"Well, Mary, what is it? I know there is something on your mind or you would not have summoned me in here. Is it about the trial? Have you seen Mr. Furnival again?"
"No; it is not about the trial," she said, avoiding the other question.
"What is it then?"
"Sir Peregrine, it is impossible that we should be married." And thus she brought forth her tidings, as it were at a gasp, speaking at the moment with a voice that was almost indicative of anger.
"And why not?" said he, releasing her from his arm and looking at her.
"It cannot be," she said.
"And why not, Lady Mason?"
"It cannot be," she said again, speaking with more emphasis, and with a stronger tone.