"Mary," said her cousin suddenly, "tell me the truth; I have a reason for asking; is Henry Halford at the bottom of all this indifference to wealth and position and that sort of thing?"
Mary's eyes filled with tears; the presence of her cousin Charles had recalled to her memory the happy week at Oxford, and the reminiscences thus aroused were more than she could bear unmoved. She turned very pale, but she had no wish to disguise the truth from her cousin, the playmate of her childhood; and she said—
"I will tell you the truth, Charles. Henry Halford wrote to papa, but I never saw the letter. Papa wrote a refusal without asking me, and I knew nothing of these letters till nearly a year afterwards."
"Who told you then?"
"Poor Mrs. Halford. She became paralysed and weak-minded after the death of her daughter, and used to be drawn about in an invalid-chair. One day when I was walking with mamma we met her, and then in some way she slipped it out. It was the very day that Captain Fraser called upon papa and asked him for me."
"And was this the real cause of your refusing Captain Fraser?"
"I could never have married him, Charlie," she said. "You know what he is; nor could I if he had been worth 50,000l. a year instead of twelve; so I should have refused him at all events; but hearing about Henry Halford's letter made me more decided. Oh, Charles, don't remind me of that time; I never saw papa so angry in my life, but I kept firm."
"And this Mr. Halford—do you think he is still attached to you?"
"I don't know; don't ask any more questions, Charlie. I'm sure I've told you quite enough." And Mary spoke with her usual vivacity: she had dried her tears and decked her face with smiles, but her cousin had touched upon too tender a string to be made the subject of cousinly conversation.
The sound of the dinner-bell happened opportunely at this moment, and Charles entered the dining-room with his cousin on his arm, to receive a warm welcome from the uncle who had once saved him from a watery grave.