"Ah, well," she continued to herself, "there is nothing to be ashamed of; I know I should only be too proud if I am to be married some day to have such a clever, intellectual, well-informed man for my husband. Besides, he must be a good son to help his father as he does, especially as he is going to be a clergyman."
And so the young girl, who knew nothing of the world outside her own home, and who, at the age of eighteen, had never read a novel, sat raising an idol in her own heart to which she could offer that worship which in characters like Mary Armstrong often leads to an infringement of the first commandment.
A summons to tea aroused her. Hastily smoothing her hair, and with deft fingers making those little alterations which, as if by magic, add neatness to a lady's dress, she descended to the private room they occupied at the hotel.
As she entered, the light of the gas dazzled her eyes, and she could scarcely distinguish who were present.
Not so Mrs. Herbert, who exclaimed—
"Why, Mary dear, how flushed you are! I hope you have not taken cold."
"Am I flushed?" she replied, raising her hand to her cheek. "It is warm this evening, aunt, and we walked home quickly."
Her cousin Charles, who had observed the blush deepen as his mother spoke, quickly made a remark that turned the subject.
He had his own suspicions as to the cause of Mary's unusual colour, but he had no wish for the cause of those suspicions to suggest itself to others.
By degrees the conversation turned pleasantly on the events of the week, and the prospect of returning to her dear home with so much to tell her mother for a time diverted Mary's thoughts from a subject which was beginning to make itself all-absorbing.