"That you and Walter Clifford—"
"Yes," said Mary, trembling inwardly, but commanding her face.
"Are—engaged."
Mary drew a long breath. "What makes you think so?" said she, looking down.
"Well, there is a certain familiarity—no, that is too strong a word; but there is more ease between you than there was. Ever since I came back from Belgium I have seen that the preliminaries of courtship were over, and you two looked on yourselves as one."
"Mr. Hope," said this good, arch girl, and left off panting, "you are a terrible man. Papa is eyes and no eyes. You frighten me; but not very much, for you would not watch me so closely if you did not love me—a little."
"Not a little, Miss Bartley."
"Mary, please."
"Mary. I have seen you a sickly child; I have been anxious—who would not? I have seen you grow in health and strength, and every virtue."
"And seen me tumble into the water and frighten you out of your senses, and there's nothing one loves like a downright pest, especially if she loves us; and I do love you, Mr. Hope, dearly, dearly, and I promise to be a pest to you all your days. Ah, here he comes at last." She made two eager steps to meet him, then she said, "Oh! I forgot," and came back again and looked prodigiously demure and innocent.