Such being the state of affairs with him, that little episode with Clary being at an end,—or rather, as he thought, never having quite come to a beginning,—and his little arrangement as to Polly Neefit being in abeyance, he was free to amuse himself with this newcomer. Miss Bonner was certainly the most lovely girl he had ever seen. He could imagine no beauty to exceed hers. He knew well enough that her loveliness could be nothing to him;—but a woman's beauty is in one sense as free as the air in all Christian countries. It is a light shed for the delight, not of one, but of many. There could be no reason why he should not be among the admirers of Miss Bonner. "I expect, you know, to be admitted quite on the terms of an old friend," he said. "I shall call you Mary, and all that kind of thing."
"I don't see your claim," said Miss Bonner.
"Oh yes, you do,—and must allow it. I was almost a sort of son of Sir Thomas's,—till he turned me off when I came of age. And Patience and Clarissa are just the same as sisters to me."
"You are not even a cousin, Mr. Newton."
"No;—I'm not a cousin. It's more like a foster-brother, you know. Of course I shan't call you Mary if you tell me not. How is it to be?"
"Just for the present I'll be Miss Bonner."
"For a week or so?"
"Say for a couple of years, and then we'll see how it is."
"You'll be some lucky's fellow's wife long before that. Do you like living at Fulham?"
"Very much. How should I not like it? They are so kind to me. And you know, when I first resolved to come home, I thought I should have to go out as a governess,—or, perhaps, as a nursery-maid, if they didn't think me clever enough to teach. I did not expect my uncle to be so good to me. I had never seen him, you know. Is it not odd that my uncle is so little at home?"