This gentleman was, as yet, in happy ignorance of the news in store for him. He welcomed his daughter home with undisguised pleasure, and listened to her lively and vivid descriptions of what she had seen and heard, and of the wonderful and delightful places she had visited with great interest.
Not once, however, did the name of Henry Halford escape her lips. She spoke in a general way of Charles Herbert's college friends who had met them in their walks and shown them the lions of Oxford, but not one was singled out for any particular description.
Mrs. Armstrong watched her daughter's countenance as she talked, and noticed a something in her manner and appearance that marked the change from girlhood to womanhood—a certain reticence on some points, unlike Mary's usual frankness and candour.
"Something has occurred," said the gentle mother to herself, "and Mary's wish to conceal it is painful to her natural frank truthfulness. But she will tell me by-and-by when we are alone."
Happy is the daughter who makes a confidante of her mother in preference to one of her own age and sex, and thrice happy is the mother who feels that she knows all that daughter has to confide—of course supposing that mother to be one who is anxious for her child's happiness, and able to give her good advice.
Perhaps, after all, mothers whose only ambition is to see their daughters married for the sake of riches and position, are not likely to gain their confidence on any subject.
Mrs. Armstrong would have been the very last to take an undue advantage of the girlish confidence of her daughter, although she trembled at the thought that what Mary might have to tell would be displeasing to her father.
With all Mr. Armstrong's habit of looking upon gentle, amiable women as inferior in intellect and deficient in mental strength, he would have been rather surprised to find that his wife understood his daughter's character better than himself.
Days passed, however, after her return from Oxford, before Mrs. Armstrong had any opportunity for discovering Mary's secret, and then it was only by accident that the truth came out.
One fine afternoon in July Mrs. Armstrong, with Mary and her three brothers, was returning home along the high road, in which stood their own house and Englefield Grange. They had passed the latter, which was less than a quarter of a mile from Lime Grove on the opposite side of the road, when Freddy exclaimed—