"Why don't you talk to her about it?" he said—"You might do more for Roxmouth than you are doing, Peggy! I may tell you it would mean good times for both of us if you pushed that affair on!"
Mrs. Courtenay looked meditative.
"I'll try!"—she said, at last—"Roxmouth is to dine here to-morrow night—I'll say something before he comes."
And she did. She took an opportunity of finding Maryllia alone in her morning-room, where she was busy answering some letters. Gliding in, without apology, she sank into the nearest comfortable chair.
"We shall soon all be gone from this dear darling old house!" she said, with a sigh—"When are you coming back to London, Maryllia?"
"Never, I hope,"—Maryllia answered—"I am tired of London,—and if I go anywhere away from here for a change it will be abroad—ever so far distant!"
"With Lord Roxmouth?" suggested Mrs. Courtenay, with a subtle blink in her eyes.
Maryllia laid down the pen she held, and looked straight at her.
"I think you are perfectly aware that I shall never go anywhere with Lord Roxmouth,"—she said—"Please save yourself the trouble of discussing this subject! I know how anxious you are upon the point— Aunt Emily has, of course, asked you to use your influence to persuade me into this detestable marriage—now do understand me, once and for all, that it's no use. I would rather kill myself than be Lord Roxmouth's wife!"
"But why—" began Mrs. Courtenay, feebly.