"But still I can not abandon the hope that you will yet heed good counsel and make yourself known to your best friends," pleaded the old man.
But Mary Grey shook her head.
Dr. Jones coaxed, argued, lectured, all in vain.
At length, worn out by his importunities, Mary Grey, to gain her own ends, artfully replied:
"Well, dear, good, wise friend, if ever I do gain courage to make myself known to my family, I must do it from some little distance, and by letter, so as to give them time to get over the shock of the revelation, before I could dare to face them. Think of it yourself. How could we bear to look each other in the eyes while telling and hearing such a story?"
"I believe you are right so far. Yes, in that view of the case it is, perhaps, better that you should go away and then write," admitted Dr. Jones.
"And you will aid me in my efforts to get away at once and without opposition? Tell them that it is better for my health and spirits that I should go away for a while, and go immediately—as it really is, you know. Will you do this?"
"Yes, I will do it, in the hope that your nervous system may be strengthened, and you may find courage to do the duty that lies before you," said the doctor, as he pressed her hand and left the room.
Dr. Jones went down-stairs to the drawing-room, where the young ladies waited in anxious suspense.
Emma Cavendish arose and looked at him in silent questioning.