“And don’t tell him that I advised this.”
“Of course not; he would take a dislike to you if I did. Don’t worry, Alan darling, for I know exactly how to behave.”
“Behave just as you have done, Marie, and do not let Mr. Sorley believe that anything new is afoot, or that there is any understanding between us.”
Miss Inderwick nodded vigorously to imply that she knew what she was about, and the two walked on for some distance in silence, over the cobblestone pavement of Belstone main street. Occasional smiles and looks of approval were cast at the young couple by stray villagers, for Alan was a great favorite in his father’s parish, and Marie was much more popular than her uncle. The inhabitants of Belstone believed that if Marie became Mrs. Alan Fuller, that the old day of plenty would return to The Monastery in which all would share, for they credited the young man with brains which would enable him to make a great deal of money. And if he did, seeing that he had a generous nature, it was just as well that he should marry the last descendant of the ancient family who had ruled the neighborhood. All public sympathy was on the side of the lovers.
But to this Marie and Alan paid no attention, since they were wrapped up in one another. The girl felt quite happy in Fuller’s company and occasionally glanced at his meditative face. Alan appeared to be thinking deeply, and apparently of something not connected with herself. With the natural jealousy of a woman in love, Marie could not permit this.
“What are you thinking about, dear?” she asked suspiciously.
“About Morad-Bakche!”
Miss Inderwick opened her eyes on hearing this strange name. “Who is he?”
“He is an Indian gentleman, dear, whom I met at Miss Grison’s.”
“Why should you think about him just now when I am here, Alan?”