Men with a wider knowledge, and a deeper insight into the mysteries of the female mind, could have told him that Mary's unwillingness to see him, and her brusque—it might even be rude—message, were favourable rather than unfavourable auguries of what was likely to be the nature of her reply.
But he had no one he could draw inspiration from. Imagination was therefore allowed to run riot, and the most unfavourable result anticipated, rather than the sensible advice of Mrs. Ranger being allowed to have its way.
Before retiring for the night, he had so far overcome his scruples—or shall we rather call them doubts?—as to resolve that he would make another effort on the morrow to see her, and learn the fate that was in store for him.
When Mary joined the couple in the sitting-room below, some ten to fifteen minutes later, there was a mischievous gleam in her sparkling eyes, and slightly nervous but mirthful twitching about the corners of her pretty lips, which betrayed the humour she had been indulging at the expense of her love-sick swain.
A broad smile was upon Ranger's face, but his wife, looking up from the work she had in hand, merely remarked, "Mary, I could not help noticing how disappointed John seemed with your message."
"Indeed? I don't see why he should be," was Mary's reply, in a tone of assumed ignorance which was far from deceiving the older couple.
"He said he should be sorry to bother you, but he had no doubt he should see you before long."
"Will he! Perhaps he may or he may not." Then, after a brief pause, she asked, as though anxious the subject should not be dropped, "Did he say what he wanted me for?"
"Not likely, child! Did you imagine he would?"
"I never took the trouble to think. Why should he not? I have no secrets!"