Mary did not reply, and the conversation drifted into another subject.
But her cousin's playful remarks had excited new ideas, and when alone in her room that night she almost decided to avoid the society of the young man in whom she felt herself already interested. In about two years he would finish his terms, and with his acknowledged talents was it likely he would fail to pass for his degree, and obtain ordination? And then—he would be a clergyman, a curate perhaps with a hundred a year,—would her father consent to such a match for her? Some such thoughts as these for a time perplexed her, till at last she dismissed them as absurd. Mr. Henry Halford had never by word or look given her a right to imagine any such nonsense; and after all why should she allow herself to be influenced by the jokes of her cousin Charles?
But to dismiss thoughts of persons with whom we are constantly associated is not an easy matter, as Mary quickly discovered. In an early walk next day with her cousin and his friends they again encountered Henry Halford. He accompanied them to the afternoon service at New College, and soon proved himself as efficient a guide as Frank Maurice. At dinner he completely won the good opinion of Colonel Herbert, by making sensible remarks on various subjects with a modest unobtrusiveness so pleasing in a young man to his elders; and when they separated on that evening it was quite understood that Henry Halford was to consider himself one of their party during this visit to Oxford. Charles Herbert looked however in vain for any signs that these two young people, Henry Halford and Mary Armstrong, were, as he called it, "falling in love" with each other.
They appeared on most friendly terms; Henry rather reserved, but kind, attentive, and polite to the young lady, who treated him with easy familiarity totally unmixed with self-consciousness. There was no scheming to separate from the rest of the party, and Charles Herbert was at length forced to admit that his joking remarks to Mary had been ill-timed.
And yet in the heart of Henry Halford a struggle had commenced, which he could with difficulty maintain when in Mary's society. He also had secretly communed with himself after meeting her so suddenly on the Sunday evening in Christchurch meadows. His first impulse was to leave Oxford and return home at once, rather than again meet the girl whose presence had aroused all the former emotions which he had supposed were completely crushed. He tried to reason with himself on the folly of supposing that he could form a just estimate of a young lady's character in scarcely two interviews; and even if he had now the opportunity placed in his way of seeing her more frequently, could he venture to offer himself to Mr. Armstrong as a suitor for his only daughter? But this very hopelessness nerved him to remain in her society; he was not coxcomb enough to suppose such a sensible girl as Mary Armstrong in any danger from this association with him; and so he remained, firmly guarding his words and actions, that not one might be mistaken as a wish to gain her affections.
Yet the days passed pleasantly: very frequently the three young people sallied forth alone, Mrs. Herbert and the colonel not being able to endure so much fatigue; at other times they were punted up the river to Iffley, passing water-lilies and banks of forget-me-nots, while the gaudy dragon-fly, with its green and gold feathers glittering in the sun, flitted across from bank to bank.
CHAPTER XVII.
CHRISTCHURCH MEADOWS.
The morning of Commemoration-day dawned in full summer splendour. At an early hour Mrs. Herbert and Mary were conducted by Henry Halford and the captain to the ladies' gallery of the Sheldonian Theatre, which on these occasions bears the closest resemblance to a flower-garden.