"Oh, Mr. Graham, I'm sure I've loved you. I have indeed. And I will. I won't even think of Al—"
"But I want you to think of him,—that is if he be worth thinking of."
"He's a very good young man, and always lives with his mother."
"It shall be my business to find out that. And now Mary, tell me truly. If he be a good young man, and if he loves you well enough to marry you, would you not be happier as his wife than you would as mine?"
There! The question that he wished to ask her had got itself asked at last. But if the asking had been difficult, how much more difficult must have been the answer! He had been thinking over all this for the last fortnight, and had hardly known how to come to a resolution. Now he put the matter before her without a moment's notice and expected an instant decision. "Speak the truth, Mary;—what you think about it;—without minding what anybody may say of you." But Mary could not say anything, so she again burst into tears.
"Surely you know the state of your own heart, Mary?"
"I don't know," she answered.
"My only object is to secure your happiness;—the happiness of both of us, that is."
"I'll do anything you please," said Mary.
"Well then, I'll tell you what I think. I fear that a marriage between us would not make either of us contented with our lives. I'm too old and too grave for you." Yet Mary Snow was not younger than Madeline Staveley. "You have been told to love me; and you think that you do love me because you wish to do what you think to be your duty. But I believe that people can never really love each other merely because they are told to do so. Of course I cannot say what sort of a young man Mr. Fitzallen may be; but if I find that he is fit to take care of you, and that he has means to support you,—with such little help as I can give,—I shall be very happy to promote such an arrangement."