"What shall you do, then?"
"Live at Dallory Hall. Frank is going to be married, to the lord's sister. Now there's some information for you, but you need not proclaim it. It is true. I shall remove myself and my chattels to the Hall, and live there till I die."
"It will be very lonely for you."
"Yes, I know that," she answered sadly. "Most old maids are lonely. There will be Frank's children, perhaps, to come and stay with me sometimes."
Their eyes met. Each understood the other as exactly as though a host of words had been spoken. She would have one man for a husband, and only one--if he would have her.
Richard went nearer. His lips were pale, his tones husky with emotion.
"Mary, it would be most unsuitable. Think of your money; your birth. I told you once before not to tempt me. Why, you know--you know that I have loved you, all along, too well for my own peace. In the old days when those works of ours"--pointing to the distant chimneys--"were of note, and we were wealthy, I allowed myself to cherish dreams that I should be ashamed to confess to now: but that's all over and done with. It would never do."
She blushed and smiled; and turned her head away from him to study the opposite hedge while she spoke.
"For my part, I think there never was anything so suitable since the world was made."
"Mary, I cannot."