'I am under such supervision—Hew, for instance—
'It is intolerable!' said Falconer, as a gesture of impatience escaped him. 'To love you, and say that I love you, dearest Mary, means views of marriage, and the hope that you will be mine—mine for ever, sweetest pet,' he continued, with infinite tenderness of tone and manner, taking her little face between his hands, after the mode of the pictured Huguenot; but Mary partially and nervously withdrew from him. 'You are free, Mary, are you not?' he asked, with great and sudden anxiety.
There was no answer, and she seemed intently studying the pattern of the carpet.
'You are not, you cannot be, engaged?' he exclaimed in a low and earnest voice, and dreading some change since they parted.
'No, certainly—not of my own free will,' was her curious reply, while tears trembled on her dark lashes.
'How then?'
'Mrs. Garth told you all, did she not?'
'Do you know your own mind, Mary?' he asked, taking her caressingly in his arms.
'Yes,' said she, with a sob in her throat.
'How is it to be, then?'